Bullets & Fairytales
by N. Kitty
Summary: One moment can change everything. Was a happy ending too much to ask for?
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Belong to Dick Wolfe and company, you crafty geniuses. Though if they were mine, Olivia would get to be happy some of the time and Elliot would go shirtless at least every other episode.

Rated **"M"** for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Icky situations and possible sexual situations in later chapters. We'll see.

**Reviews:** Please. This is my first fan fic.

**Chapter One**

Outside of the situation, she would have been embarrassed at the fine tremor in her right hand. Her police issue Glock 9mm felt awkward, almost heavy. Olivia swore she almost heard the rattle of the magazine competing with the pounding of her heart against her ribs.

"Drop it! Drop it now, Clarkson, or I'll shoot!"

Clarkson sneered back at her, his Smith & Wesson 45mm trained at her chest. She memorized the details of the weapon in his burly hand, trying to remember how many bullets were left. One in the chamber, yes, but how many had been shot? Two in the left brick wall of the alleyway, two into her partner…she shoved the thought forcefully from her head even as she heard Elliot groan from somewhere behind her. No, she couldn't think about it. _Take this guy down, Liv. Take him down._

The crooked grin pulled at Clarkson's tobacco stained mouth, his face as hairy as the backs of his hands, his dark eyes squinting at her. He laughed again, the noise brittle against her ears. It echoed faintly in the alleyway, a singular sound. No sirens, _no_, she had been waiting for that. But Clarkson had caught her and El completely unaware. _And Elliot…_

"You or me, bitch. I ain't goin' back. So you fucking drop your piece or end up the same way as your partner."

She tried to keep her breath from coming out in shallow gasps. She steadied her hand, her lips pulled out in a tight line. She was cool. She had been in this situation before.

His weapon didn't waiver; neither was going to relinquish their hold on the situation. Could she even reason with this bastard?

"Clarkson, if you kill me, you know there is no way you'll get out. _Two_ cops? That's an automatic death sentence. Drop your weapon and the DA will consider…"

He snorted. "Fuck the DA! You don't get it, bitch! I killed your partner. The only way I'm getting out of this is through you!"

Olivia knew it, the moment it happened. Something in his eyes, a barely perceptible movement of his gun hand. His mind was made up and nothing she could do would salvage the situation. But Clarkson had miscalculated how fast his opponent was.

She shot off three rounds, keeping her aim steady even as she felt her left bicep burn. Clarkson's burly body hit the pavement in under a second, Olivia was standing over him in two. Her gun was aimed with deadly precision at his head, but his open eyes and split skull told her it was unnecessary. Their perp was dead.

Her breath came out freely now in sharp gasps, her body shaking visibly. She fumbled her Glock into her holster, barely getting the weapon contained. She swung on her heel, pounding across the pavement to the crumpled body of her partner.

"El! Oh God, Elliot! Talk to me!" She was screaming, her voice punctured by liberated emotion. She tore at his khaki trench, ripping free the radio at his left hip.

"Officer down! Officer has been shot! I need a car at 18th and Holcombe stat. Repeat, officer down!"

The radio slipped out of her hands to the concrete. Olivia pushed back the rest of Elliot's coat, trying to access his wounds. He looked up at her, his usual piercing, ice blue eyes dull. He grimaced in pain, trying to talk as her shaking hands grazed down his torso.

"Liv. Damn, the bastard shot me. It was out of no…damn, that hurts." He hissed in as her hand pressed against his left side. One of his hands covered hers over the wound, and he was surprised how cold and shaky she was. He stared at her intently, taking in her paled face and trembling lips. "Bad? Tell me."

"Twice. Graze to the forehead, just a scratch, but this...," her voice trailed off. Two inches in. Probably punctured a lung. Bleeding badly. _God, this was serious._

She rolled back and tore off her own trench coat. She pulled rapidly at the pale blue button down shirt underneath, splitting buttons in her haste to jerk it from her body. It left her in a white tank top in fall weather, but at this point, she was cold enough from the shock to be beyond caring on the outside temperature.

She balled the cotton dress shirt against his side, gentling her touch at his sharp intake of breath. "It's bleeding badly, Elliot. Pressure, to stop the bleeding," she spoke softly.

She felt his cool hand slide up her arm and goose bumps left a trail from the path of his palm.

"You've been…shot, Liv."

Olivia became aware of the pain for the first time and looked down at her left bare bicep. She grimaced. Clarkson had got a shot at her after all. A quick assessment told her it wasn't life threatening. Close enough to the surface of the skin that the bullet had sliced across her flesh instead of puncturing. Some stitches would be needed. Another battle scar.

"Liv…"

She jerked her attention from her wound to look down at him. His eyelids were fluttering and she knew instinctively he was fighting consciousness.

"Elliot, no! Stay awake, sweetheart. Please. El, please stay with me."

He blinked, and then focused on her drowsily, his mouth pulling into that off kilter grin she secretly loved. "_Sweetheart?_ Are you afraid I'm dyin', Livia? You think…not going to pull…"

He coughed suddenly, the movement forcing blood up into his mouth. The hand that wasn't holding her shirt against his side touched his mouth; she was horrified when she found blood there.

"El, stop talking. Please, it's going to…"

Her sentence was cut short by the sudden wail of sirens. A sob broke through her usual cool exterior; all of this became too much. Thank God they were coming. The paramedics would save Elliot, three little girls would be avenged by Clarkson's death, and everything would go back to the status quo. _Her own version of happily ever after._

His cold hand against her cheek brought her focus again on Elliot.

"Cold, Liv. My body…," he coughed again, the movement screaming pain through his side. "Just in case, I want to say...best fucking partner. Best…" His fingers smoothed across her trembling bottom lip, pausing for a moment. He stared intently at her, memorizing every line on her face. "So much to say." He coughed, the harsh movement bringing more blood up into his mouth from his lungs. "Damn."

"Elliot, please, don't speak."

"Livia, damn it…," he coughed again, his body trying to bring more air into his injured lung. "Love you."

She covered his mouth again with a shaky hand. His hand slid limply to his side.

"No…," she whispered. Elliot's eyes closed and his shallow breathing seemed to stop suddenly. Behind her she heard the ambulance screech to a halt next to their undercover car outside the alleyway. Heavy footsteps as the paramedics beat across the concrete to get to the bloody scene.

She didn't even feel it as someone pulled her away, numbly watching as they worked hastily on her partner's static body.

If he didn't make it, she didn't know what she would do. This couldn't be the end.


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Thank you, Dick Wolfe and company, for your wonderful programming. But a little more romance? They suffer so much…

Rated **"M"** for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Icky situations and possible sexual stuff in later chapters. We'll see.

**Reviews:** Please. This is my first fan fic. Thank you for those reviews of chapter one. You're the reason I wrote chapter two so quickly!

**Chapter Two  
**

The reflection was startling, almost as if she wasn't alone in the sterile-smelling hospital bathroom. Olivia's hand stilled on the faucet as she stared at her image. Her face was still pale, smudged mascara under her dark eyes making her ghostly. Blood was smeared across her left cheek and her short, thick hair was wildly disarrayed. More of Elliot's blood stained the front of her white tank-top and the top of her black slacks.

Her hand rose from the faucet to gingerly touch the broad white bandage on her left bicep. The doctor had done a decent job of sewing the wound; the stitches under the gauze were small and neat. The pain was minimal, her skin still feeling numbed from the local injection the doctor had insisted on before he closed the gunshot wound.

She sighed, twisting on the faucet and leaning over the sink to wash her face. Olivia had run in here for the third time since the doctor finished on her. Nausea kept on her constantly like a shadow in the low sun. She couldn't shake it, and it wouldn't leave even after she lost the last of her breakfast. The doctor had tried to give her something for it, but Olivia knew it wasn't a side effect of her injury. _Elliot._

Olivia looked back at the mirror; there was a haunted look in those brown eyes. She had killed a man and her partner might not pull through…

She shook her head, forcing the thought out. Elliot was strong; his body was healthy and she knew his mindset was determined enough to get him through this.

Her reflection seemed to mock her. She bit at her lower lip, surveying her image again. There was no way to clean the blood from her white tank top. She could go home and change at this point since they had officially released her, but there was no way in hell she would leave Elliot. So the blood made her a marked woman. She was the one with Elliot. She was the one walking around while he was in an operating room. _You could have done more._

"No," she whispered. Her hand lowered to her empty holster at the thought and a humorless smile touched her lips. The crime scene unit had confiscated it on the orders of Internal Affairs. Because a cop was shot in addition to the perp being killed by another cop, IA was now involved, and they had their list of regulations. They took her weapon for testing at the crime lab and placed Olivia on an automatic three day suspension while they performed their investigation.

She sighed, bending over the sink to splash some more cold water on her face, careful this time to wash the blood smear from her cheek. She tore off some paper towels and blotted her face dry. She was a mess, but it would have to do.

She made her way out of the bathroom and back into the emergency room waiting area. Cragen looked up at her and wordlessly shook his head. _Still no word on Elliot._

Cragen was seated in one of the uncomfortable looking chairs lining the back wall of the waiting room, fingers crossed, his back bent with his elbows resting on his thighs. He looked distraught and as exhausted as Olivia felt. He had rushed into the ER less then ten minutes after she arrived in the ambulance with Elliot. His presence soothed her in a way nothing else could at this moment. The others helped, but it was her captain that had held her when she was struggling not to cry.

Munch was pacing back and forth, muttering constantly about hospitals and regulations and government funded healthcare in socialist societies. Both Cragen and Fin at different times had told him to shut up over the past two hours, but they had since given up. Munch was mild amusement for the ten or so other people waiting, save the addict who was detoxing in the far corner. She had finally been called back to a doctor, though, so Munch was safe to continue his rant. Olivia knew it was his way of dealing with the situation; she understood his need to talk to take his mind off of Elliot.

Fin was leaning against the massive doorway, giving him a view of the waiting room and at the same time the long, large hallway that lead down to the ER doors, check-in desk, bathrooms and surgery facilities. His face was tight, lips pursed, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans. He acknowledged Olivia with an upward jerk of his head.

"You 'kay, Liv?" He asked. She gave him a small smile.

"Better." She touched her stomach lightly. "I think that was the last of it. I just need a Sprite or 7up." She started to dig into her pockets for change, bringing Fin's attention down to her holster.

"I still can't believe those IA fucks took your Glock. Bastards don't trust a cop. Fucker was a murdering pedophile at that and they're investigating a cop?" He shook his head, his mouth pulling up at one side in a sardonic grin. "What 'cha gonna do without your gun?"

"I've got three more at home," Olivia replied, her lips curving up slightly, mirroring him. It was true. She felt naked without a weapon and needed to have one with her at all times. After showering when she got home, getting her favorite back up, her Beretta M9, into her holster would be her second task.

"Here, I got change." Fin pulled some quarters out of his pocket, holding out his palm to make sure there was enough. Olivia came up empty, so she took the change with an appreciative smile. 

"Thanks, Fin." Olivia turned around and headed back out in the hallway. She had noticed a line of vending machines earlier near the ER doors and she headed that way now.

She stopped halfway down the hall, recognizing the woman as she ran through the ER doors, her face puffy and red, keys still in her right hand.

"Kathy…"

"Where is he?" Kathy's voice was high-pitched and shaky. Cragen must have gotten through to Kathy's cell while Olivia was in the bathroom. He and Olivia had tried earlier, but weren't able to get directly to her. Leaving a message like this to be relayed to Kathy wasn't an option for them. And while Kathy and Elliot had been divorced for over a year now, Olivia still felt that Kathy needed to hear it from her instead of some news program. And there was the task of telling his children…

"Elliot's in surgery. The bullet was still in his side and the doctors are working to remove it and repair…"

"You bitch! How could you have let this happen?" Kathy screamed, cutting Olivia off. Olivia looked back at her, momentarily stunned.

"We were both taken by surprise. We were following up on a lead and the suspect of a series of murders was waiting for us." Olivia kept her voice calm, slipping instinctively into her interrogation room persona. "Neither of us had a chance to get a shot off before Clarkson drew his weapon."

"How come it was him? Why him?" Kathy was still screaming, her body shaking. "Why him and not you? Oh, God, is that his blood on you?" She looked down wildly at Olivia's blood-stained shirt, then back at her face. "Do you want to tell my kids that their father is dead?"

Olivia felt the presence of people behind her.

"Elliot's not dead, Kathy," Olivia spoke evenly. "He is in surgery. He'll pull through." She paused, letting her words sink in. Kathy was breathing heavily, but said nothing.

"He's strong. The doctors will be able to fix him. Your children still have a father," Olivia continued. She held out her hand. "It will be all right. Please…"

Kathy's face suddenly tightened and she choked on a sob. "Oh, God, I thought he was dead, Olivia! This is the reason, oh, God, this is the reason, every day, every night, thinking he's going to die. I just couldn't do it. I'm so sorry…"

Kathy took Olivia's outstretched hand and Olivia pulled her close, holding her as she broke down completely. Kathy shook hard, sobbing against Olivia; Olivia rubbed her back, trying to ease the other woman's fear and pain. Cragen came into view behind Kathy. He gave Olivia a small nod, then moved in closer, lightly touching Kathy's back next to Olivia's hand.

"Kathy."

"Oh, Don." Kathy moved from Olivia into Cragen's embrace. Olivia moved quietly away, letting Cragen comfort her.

"Here."

Olivia looked away from the two to Fin who was standing next to her now. He had a Sprite can in his hand. "Seein' as you didn't get a chance."

She took the can, digging out the change in her pocket and giving it back to him. "Thanks, Fin."

"Emotional women frighten me," Munch spoke in a low voice from the other side of Olivia.

"I agree, man. This one in particular," Fin replied. Olivia tried to pop the top off of the Sprite can as quietly as possible.

"She's distraught. The constant fear of hearing this kind of news is one of the reasons they divorced. And now she's going to have to tell their children." Olivia felt sympathy for her, even after Kathy's ardent display of emotion. She took a few sips of the Sprite. "It's understandable."

"Shit. If it weren't for you, Stabler'd be dead," Fin grunted. "Bastard got a shot off at you too – it's not like you were on the sidelines watching the shit go down. You popped the fucker and saved your partner."

A muffled ring had Fin digging around inside his jacket, cutting their conversation short. He pulled out his cell phone, flipping it open. "Tutuola. Yeah….nah, nah, nothing yet. Really? No, he hadn't last time…now? Bastard chooses now? Yeah…nah, about ten minutes. Yeah…yeah, bye."

Fin closed his cell and tucked it back inside his jacket. "The DA and McKeever's lawyer are down at holding. Fucker chooses now to confess."

Olivia recognized the name. McKeever was the top suspect of one of Fin and Munch's current cases.

"McKeever's asking for me, the sick little bitch. He wants my company for his twisted tale, for sure. Wants to get off on the reaction." Fin mouth was pursed. He looked at Olivia; his eyes shifted from her face down to her shirt, the blood stain a blunt reminder of the situation. "I don't want to leave you."

"It's okay, Fin," Olivia touched his arm. "I'll call you if I hear anything."

His mouth was still drawn out, but he nodded. "Right." He turned his attention to his partner. "I'll let you know what goes on with McKeever."

"Don't let him get to you," Munch warned.

"Never. Sick fuck," Fin repeated, shaking his head. He started off towards the ER doors. At the same time, Cragen and Kathy broke their hold and headed back to Olivia and Munch. Olivia heard Fin explain in short what was going on and Cragen nodded. Fin walked down the hall past the check-in desk and out the doors.

Cragen still had a hand on one of Kathy's arms. As they came closer, Olivia could tell Kathy was worn out by the crying. She also looked faintly embarrassed, and Olivia guessed that the woman felt bad about her initial outburst.

"Olivia, John," Cragen spoke quietly. "I'm going to take Kathy to pick up the children from school. Maureen also needs to be contacted…"

"Captain, if it's okay with you both, I would like to drive Kathy over to pick up the kids," Munch offered. Olivia glanced over at him, hiding her shock. Just a moment ago, he said that he couldn't stand emotional women, and here he was asking to be in a car alone with one. Olivia realized then that Munch was giving himself up for the captain, because he knew Cragen wanted to be here when Elliot came out of surgery. Or maybe he realized how much Olivia needed Cragen's support now. Whatever his reason was, at that moment, Olivia counted John as one of her true friends.

"If it's all right with Kathy." Cragen looked down at the blonde woman. She nodded, a small smile warming her face as she turned to Munch.

"That would be fine. Lizzie and Dickie love John." She crossed her arms, accessing Munch. "It might comfort them to have you with me when I tell them about Elliot."

Kathy turned her attention to Olivia. She regarded her quietly for a moment before speaking. "Olivia, I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay." Olivia put a gentle hand on Kathy's shoulder. She gave her a reassuring smile. "Go pick up the children. Cragen and I will stay here, and if we hear anything else before you get back, we'll call."

"I really appreciate it," Kathy replied. She turned to Munch and he took the keys from her outstretched hand.

"We'll be back, Cap." Munch led Kathy back down the hallway and through the ER doors.

Olivia watched their retreating backs, a thousand thoughts circling around in her head. She was tired of thinking, tired _period_. She just wanted to hear something good about Elliot, see him, ask him…

"That was an unfortunate situation, Olivia, but you handled it well."

Olivia closed her eyes briefly and sighed. She took a few more gulps of the Sprite, calming as the cool liquid soothed down her throat and into her upset stomach. Her nausea had been under control during the confrontation with Kathy, but Olivia wasn't sure that it had completely disappeared.

"How does your arm feel?"

The question brought her attention back on Cragen. "Honestly, I had forgotten about it. But it's not bad. Still numb, I think, from the local."

"Did the doctor give you any meds?"

"We discussed it, but I declined. It's really not bad, Captain. A few stitches, but it wasn't deep. Tylenol should keep the pain away."

"Even though I don't agree with IA, these three days will be beneficial for you, Olivia. You can get in some rest, have a session or two with Huang…"

"Cap, I don't think that's necessary," she injected. It was no secret that she hated any sort of therapy. While she appreciated Doctor Huang's assistance to their work at the 16th precinct, she did not want to have to visit him on a personal level.

"Benson, that's not a suggestion. You killed a man today and your partner was seriously injured. Whether or not you feel you need to discuss your thoughts is not up for debate." Cragen's voice softened on his next words. "Olivia, it's important to work through this with someone."

She took a few more swallows of Sprite, finishing the can. She left Cragen without an answer, walking to the waiting room doorway and tossing the empty can in the trash bin. Olivia turned back to Cragen, first noticing the man heading from the ER area towards them.

"Captain, it's Doctor Carroll, Elliot's surgeon."

Cragen turned around to see the tall man in green medical scrubs and a white lab coat. His white surgical cap was missing from earlier and his face mask was draped loosely around his neck. He was carrying a clipboard.

"Captain Cragen, Detective Benson."

"How is he?" Olivia asked, trying to keep calm.

"We have Elliot stabilized. We just finished the surgery and moved him to the ICU."

"The bullet?"

"It was removed and sent to CSU per IA instructions. It did some moderate damage, but not as extensive as I first thought. His left lung was punctured. We had to remove part of the inferior lobe, the anterior basal, of his lung. From what I saw during surgery, it doesn't appear that he is a smoker."

Olivia shook her head.

"Then he should recover quickly. Over 70 percent of his left lung is still intact. He will have a difficult time initially, but it won't last." He glanced down at the chart. "His sixth and seventh ribs on the left side were fractured by the bullet and secondary shrapnel. This is a painful injury, and unfortunately, there is no way to cast it, but it should heal fine if he heeds my instructions and sticks to physical therapy after release."

Doctor Carroll adjusted his glasses and then tucked his clipboard under one arm. "He is still under from the anesthetic, but you can see him for a few minutes in ICU."

"We would like that," Cragen answered for both of them.

"Please let me warn you. I don't want his appearance to frighten you, because Elliot looks to be in worse condition than he actually is. There is a drainage tube in his torso removing excess fluids from the wound and we still have him on oxygen and fluid nutrients. We had to shave his right temple due to the second bullet. That wound took six stitches to close, so his head is also bandaged."

Olivia swallowed hard. She didn't know how she would react seeing her partner in this condition. But more than anything else, she _needed_ to see him. It didn't matter how injured he appeared, but she couldn't leave until she made sure with her own eyes that Elliot was still alive.

"Detective Benson, is your first name Olivia?" Doctor Carroll asked.

One of Olivia's eyebrows quirked up at the question. "Yes. Why?"

His free hand slipped into his lab coat pocket. He pulled out a black mass of what looked like beads and it wasn't until he opened his palm that Olivia realized what it was. _Elliot's rosary._

"Elliot told me to give this to you. He was sliding in and out of consciousness when we were prepping him for surgery; when he was lucid, he made this request. These were in his trench coat pocket."

Olivia's eyes burned as she felt tears threaten. The nausea crept back in as she stared at the string of beads in the doctor's outstretched hand. She wouldn't cry. _Don't cry, Liv._

"Detective Benson?" Doctor Carroll sounded concerned.

Olivia took the rosary gently, the black glass beads cool against her palm as she closed her fingers around it. Elliot's rosary. The one he carried with him on patrol. Olivia hadn't understood it, she wasn't Catholic, but she knew the significance of the object to him.

She focused on breathing normally. She knew both the doctor and Cragen were staring at her. She didn't want to cry, to break down in front of them. She had her pride. And so far she had made it through this entire ordeal without a tear, without truly expressing how much this entire thing was breaking her heart.

His voice came back to her. _"Livia, damn it…Love you."_ She would take the memory and those words to her grave.

A hot tear spilt down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily, starting off down the hall towards the area she had seen Doctor Carroll first appear.

"Let's go," she called back to them, not bothering to see if they were behind her. Her mind was on one thing now, and one thing alone.

She was going to see Elliot.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Thank you, Dick Wolfe and company, for your wonderful programming. 

Rated **"M"** for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Icky situations and possible sexual stuff in later chapters. _It's coming, just be patient…_

**Reviews:** Please. This is my first fan fic. Thank you for all of the reviews – keep them coming, they help me write (faster).

**Chapter Three**

The Intensive Care Unit was kept cooler than the ER. The lack of windows and overall lighting arrangement only added to the chilly air. Olivia's arms reflectively crossed over her chest, goose bumps prickling her bare flesh. Of course, she couldn't fool herself that it was the temperature alone that almost had her teeth chattering. A sudden nervousness danced like frigid fingers down her spine; ignoring the fear of seeing Elliot in this state wasn't possible now.

"I can only let you stay 15 minutes," Doctor Carroll told them quietly, his voice apologetic. "The ICU has strict limitations on visitors. When Elliot is released into his own room, there will be more freedom on visiting hours. I estimate we can probably move him in a day or two to a private suite."

They came to a stop in the middle of the dim hallway. There was a large observation window next to an open door to their right. Olivia's breath caught in her throat.

There were three surgical beds in the dimly lit room, only the middle one occupied. Doctor Carroll's previous warning had been accurate; the man sleeping under crisp white sheets was bandaged and pale, his muscular frame seemingly diminished surrounded as he was by medical equipment. A lone nurse was in the room with him, changing out the IV bag.

"Elliot," his name was a whisper on her lips, the hand loosely holding the rosary reaching out to touch the glass. She was shocked by his appearance. His head was bandage, the cloth thicker on his temple above his right ear, the mass of gauze covering his stitches. An oxygen tube was taped in place under his nostrils. Olivia could make out parts of the drainage hose coming out from his left side under the blanket. The machine responsible for this process made a distinctive sound she could hear from out in the hallway. It split through the musical ballad of the other instruments tracking Elliot's numerous vitals.

The IV was connected to his body in the soft flesh of his right inner elbow. A wide piece of clear tape kept the tube inserted underneath his skin.

"He will probably stay unconscious through the night. The anesthetic used during the surgery is still present in his bloodstream. He was also injected with pain killers to help him sleep. If he does wake up, it will only be intermittent, and he probably won't make any sense because of the drug saturation," Doctor Carroll explained.

"Do you think he won't remember what happened?" The thought just occurred to Olivia; she assumed his memories would survive unscathed from the shooting. She was torn with what she wished for him. To not remember would give him peace from the horrid flashbacks of being shot, of lying on the concrete unable to assist his partner. But the things he had said, how close she felt to him at that moment…

"It's always a possibility. His brain wasn't damage; the abrasion on his temple is a superficial injury. But the trauma associated with the punctured lung and then invasive surgery…," Doctor Carroll's voice trailed off. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses again. "At this point, though, there is nothing to indicate that he won't remember. If he has any sort of memory loss, it should be temporary and is probably a side effect of the anesthetic."

"Thank you, Doc," Cragen answered him. Olivia remained quiet next to the window.

"I'll be down the hall if you need anything. Anything at all, just let me know. I need to check on several other patients, and then I'll return to take you back to the waiting room."

Olivia nodded wordlessly as Doctor Carroll walked away. She felt Cragen's presence as he came up next to her. She could tell without looking that he was staring down at her instead of through the window.

"Olivia."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Olivia," he repeated. This time she glanced up at him, hating the fact that she felt tears in her eyes. She couldn't stop it. Emotion spilled through her veins like ice water. Elliot appeared so helpless, and there was nothing she could do except stand here in a dark hallway with her captain and stare at Elliot's motionless body.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting off alternating nausea and a migraine. "I'll talk to Huang, Cap. I'll make an appointment. I promise."

His hand was on her shoulder, squeezing her gently in the same manner Olivia couldn't help but recognize from when he had consoled Kathy earlier. They stared at each other for a minute, both of them thinking so much but neither speaking. Cragen broke the silence with a sigh.

"Olivia, I care about you. You're one of my best detectives, if not the best. More than anything else, you're a friend. I don't want you thinking that you have to do this on your own. We're here for you." He paused, his eyes kind, his voice soft. "I'm here for you. You're not alone."

She closed her eyes briefly, taking the moment to control her tears. When she thought it was safe, she focused her attention through the window at Elliot. "We should go see him before the doctor comes back."

"You go in, Olivia. There's no point in both of us crowding the room if Elliot's supposed to stay asleep. I'll call Munch and give him an update."

Cragen gave her shoulder one last squeeze and then turned around, pulling his cell from his coat pocket as he walked to the lighter area of the hallway. Olivia took a deep breath and entered Elliot's room.

The nurse acknowledged her with a smile. "I was just finishing," she spoke quietly. She picked up the empty IV bag and made her way to the door. "Let me know if you need anything. There is a button next to his bed," she gestured. Olivia glanced over at it, and then nodded, letting the nurse know silently that she understood. The other woman left the room, leaving Olivia alone with Elliot.

Olivia walked slowly over to the bed, taking in the vision of her partner resting under the white sheets, surrounded by medical equipment. He looked peaceful, even with all of the machines hooked up to his body. Not as frail close up as he had appeared through the observation glass.

She had caught him a time or two asleep in the crib, but this was different. Olivia imagined that this was how Kathy had seen him when they were married; the stresses of the job, all the horrors he had witnessed, the violent, truly evil people he had to interact with to bring forth justice – all of these things seemed to be washed away from him in his sleep.

He really was a beautiful man. Dark, close-cropped hair and thick eyebrows, a perfectly masculine nose, reminiscent of the Etruscan and Roman period sculpture she had studied in a required art history class in college. His jaw was strong, covered sometimes by a sexy shadow of stubble, but today shaved clean. Wide mouth, but thin lips. Perfect for his face. All and all, she had never met a more attractive man.

She shook her head, pushing the slow appraisal of her partner out of her head as she felt her face redden with her thoughts. There had been more than one time over the past several years that she had viewed his appearance in such a way to bring heat into her belly. But she had never been able to stare openly as she was now, to really absorb all of his features. _Now definitely was not the time…  
_

Olivia forced her eyes from Elliot to survey the room. She spotted the lone chair by the far wall and walked quietly across the linoleum to retrieve it. She set it down gently next to the right side of Elliot's bed, making herself as comfortable as she could in the wooden, straight back chair.

She hesitantly reached for his right hand. It had been lying motionless again his side and she took it now in hers, ignoring the dead-weight feel of it. She glanced up at his face, her fingers curling gently against his, her finger tips rubbing warmth into his cool flesh.

Olivia's other hand clenched the forgotten rosary tighter. She looked at the beads now, trying to remember the story behind them. Elliot had told her one night when they had been into the fifth hour of an undercover operation. They had discussed everything with each other – it was natural between them. Religion was one of those few topics on which they disagreed. Elliot was a practicing Catholic. Olivia had no faith – she wondered where God had been when her mother was raped, when she became an alcoholic. Where was God when children were tortured and killed?

Olivia sighed. She held his left hand in her right, her other hand tighted around the rosary. She rested her elbow on the bed, her forehead on the beads. She closed her eyes, thinking of Elliot. If there was a God, then maybe today he or she would listen. Olivia didn't know how to pray, but let her thoughts run free, all her hopes and dreams flowing through her head in a stream.

The light pressure against her fingers brought her head up sharply. She was too stunned to say anything; those ice blue eyes stared back at her, the color vivid against his paled skin. The look he was giving her was drowsy, but at the same time, it had a certain intensity as his gaze shifted from her eyes, to her mouth, taking in her face.

"Angel?" His voice was barely audible, raspier than she had ever heard it. "Heaven?"

It took her a moment to realize what he was asking. It took even longer for her to find her voice.

"No. No, El, this isn't heaven. You're still alive. You came through surgery fine." 

His eyes drifted down from her face, focusing on her tank top. "Blood? Hurt?"

"No. I'm fine. It's…it's your blood, Elliot." She swallowed, wondering how much to tell him now. "It all worked out, El. I'm fine, you're going to pull through, and Clarkson is dead. No worries."

The smile was just a diminutive movement of his dry lips, really just a ghost of the smile he usually teased her with. His eyelids fluttered closed and she sighed, her head dropping slightly, feeling heavy as the emotion of the moment became too much.

"I was in a fairytale."

Olivia's head came back up; once again she was focused on Elliot.

His smile was back, his voice still a whisper. "You were a bullet with butterfly wings."

"Elliot?"

The smile faded again and he yawned, his eyes closing. As his fingers loosened their grip on her hand, she realized he had slipped back into unconsciousness.

She continued to stare. It was the strangest thing her partner had ever said to her, but at the same time, his description of her released the hold on her tears. Nothing had ever touched her so deeply, tugged so violently at her heart.

He was in a fairytale. And she was the strength, the bullet, but he still saw her beauty, her butterfly wings.

Olivia let the feeling fuel her tears, releasing the control she had on her emotions since that morning. Since she had seen her partner, the most important person in her life, shot in front of her.

Things had definitely changed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Thank you, Dick Wolfe and company, for your wonderful programming.

Rated **"M"** for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Some graphic violence as the case develops.

**Reviews:** Please. Thank you for all of the reviews. I apologize for the delay on this chapter. I have been writing on a story with my own characters and became a little E/O sidetracked. The next two chapters should come quickly…

**Chapter Four**

**  
**

The pictures were spread across the tabletop, juxtaposed into some sort of morbid collage. Her fingertips paused on the face of each little girl; Tammy Jensen, 10; Marcie Zumalt, 11; and Erin Lilly, 10. Death had brought serenity to their little features, but the killer had not been satisfied with the result. Foundation, powder, mascara and bright lipstick had been expertly applied post-mortem. The beautification of their faces clashed heavily with the devastation paid to their bodies. It was a shocking dichotomy – the artist and the butcher acting together on the rape and murder of these little girls.

Olivia sighed heavily, leaning back in her chair. The images beckoned her; over a dozen of the crime scene photos scattered her desk, all of them a puzzle of color that didn't quite fit. She had been going over them for an hour now, trying to find an answer to a question that hadn't been asked. Something was tugging at her, like an itch in the back of her brain. It had her focused now. Olivia was back into her detective frame of mind, thinking of the case and nothing else. It was a distinctive change from the past three days.

Olivia looked away from the photos to scan the emptiness of the 16th squad room, absently rubbing the back of her neck. Those days had felt like years. After seeing Elliot right after his surgery, she had left the hospital and never returned. Other than a follow up visit with her doctor, and the required interviews with Huang and IA, she had stayed in her apartment alone, lights off, spending most of the time in bed. She couldn't even remember eating anything, only getting out of bed to use the bathroom and occasionally shower. She let the answering machine screen her calls and ignored the doorbell when it rang. She didn't feel like interacting with anyone, preferring the quiet solitude and dreams of Elliot.

She had wanted to see him with an intensity that frightened her. Alone in the dark, lying nude on top of the comforter, Beretta M9 by her right hip, the memory of the shooting caressed her like a unfeeling lover. Nausea bit at her at the constant flashbacks of Elliot walking in front of her into the alleyway, both of them surprised to find Clarkson and his Smith & Wesson. And while the memory of killing the bastard was there, it was Elliot's paled face and bleeding body that flooded her daydreams and nightmares. Forever she would remember the crimson slickness of his blood between her fingers, the accompanying fear that he was going to die in her arms constricting her heart.

Olivia moved forward in her chair, resting her head in her hands and closing her eyes. This event had peeled away her denial, had exposed in painful clarity the lie she had repeated to herself for years. And she didn't want to think about it because she didn't want anything to change from how it had been. Elliot was her partner, her friend. There could be nothing else…

"Olivia."

She looked up. Cragen stood in the large doorway leading into the squad room, his frame made small by the emptiness around him. Olivia couldn't help but smile at the sight of her captain, his hands full with two boxes of Dunkin' Donuts and his mainstay large aluminum canister of coffee. She pushed out of her chair and walked over to him, taking the boxes and setting them down on the refreshment table by the overworked coffee maker.

"You're here early," Olivia spoke quietly, turning back to Cragen. She knew he was staring at her, taking in her appearance. She steadied her hands, trying to look nonchalant.

"I was going to say the same thing, Olivia. It's not even six in the morning. What are you doing here?"

"It's been three days, Cap." Olivia rubbed her neck, looking around the empty precinct before focusing back on Cragen. "IA has completed their investigation. Novak left a message on my machine stating as much. She said that one of their detectives will drop by a summary report to you this afternoon. Detective Gonzales already gave me back my Glock yesterday when I stopped by IA for the follow up."

"Benson…"

"I wanted to get an early start. I have a lot of catching up to do on the case."

Cragen's eyebrows drew together, causing the lines in his forehead to gather. "The Clarkson case? It's been closed, Olivia." Cragen looked over his shoulder, taking in the array of photos on Olivia's desk. "You took the file?"

"I made copies prior to…the shooting." She was rubbing the back of her neck again, and realizing the gesture might come across as fidgety, shoved her hand in her pocket. "Something doesn't seem quite right. The two different treatments of the victims, the psychological profile that Huang came up with…"

"That there might be two different perps? Olivia, Huang also detailed in his profile that it was highly probable that it was one perpetrator with bi-polar psychosis. Clarkson has bi-polar disorder with untreated schizophrenia and a lengthy criminal history of violence."

Olivia's pocketed hand unconsciously drew up into a fist. Clarkson. Andrew Clarkson. She could still see his sneer in her mind, could feel her index finger pull against the trigger of her Glock. She knew the memory of killing the man would come back to her during her darkest times, even thought she could always rationalize that his death was more than justified.

"Yes. But it couldn't hurt to give it another look. I've had three days to think about it Cap, and I just want to be sure, for us and the victims, that there is absolute closure on this one."

His head titled ever so slightly as he examined her once again with his kind eyes. "Olivia."

"I promise it won't take away from any acting investigations."

"That's not what I'm concerned about." His voice was softer now. "How have you been? I've tried calling, but I keep on getting your machine."

Olivia forced a smile. "I've been resting, mostly. Catching up on years of missed sleep." The small laugh sounded fake even to her. She bit her lower lip. "I feel fine."

"Elliot tells me you haven't been by to see him."

"You've talked to Elliot?"

"Yes. He's been up and talking for two days. Yesterday he was actually walking around. His doctors told him that he should be strong enough for release within a week. Plenty of rehab left, of course, but Elliot's main goal is getting home." Cragen paused to let her absorb the information. "I've been by to see him every day, Olivia, and the first thing he asks is how you've been doing."

"I was…"

"Planning on it?" Cragen finished for her. It wasn't what Olivia was going to say, but she didn't correct him. "Good. I'm not going to ask what has kept you so busy from seeing your partner, but I want you to take some time off after nine AM and go see Stabler. Visiting hours will have started by then."

Olivia lower lip drew in slightly, holding in those thoughts she wanted to share, but never would. She had enough fun bull shitting Huang yesterday in the "therapy" session. She could never lie to Cragen, she respected him too much, but she would never let her feelings spill out from the wall she had been building for years.

"It's…complicated." Olivia's voice was barely above a whisper.

"I know. And I'm not asking for an explanation, Olivia. But right now, your partner needs you. And I think, maybe deep down, you might need him too. You went through this together, Benson. There are going to be scars, physical and emotional. And the best way for partners to heal is to talk about the incident together. No one can understand exactly what you are going through, except your partner." He paused, giving her a small smile. "Trust me on this, Olivia."

Olivia smiled back, and this time it was genuine. His words comforted her, easing some of the tension she had been holding. Once again, she was grateful to have Cragen in her life. She hadn't explained anything to him, but he instinctively gave her direction. Her captain was like the father she should have had.

"Thank you, Cap."

They were both quiet for a moment, and then Cragen gave her a quick nod, turning to the boxes of donuts. He opened the top box, and after rummaging around a few seconds with a napkin, produced shiny, sugar glazed cinnamon roll.

"Your favorite, Olivia. Now let me pour us some coffee and we can go over a new case that came in. Munch has been working it alone while Fin wraps up the McKeever case. But now that you're back, you can give him some assistance. There have been two rapes in the past week where the vics are showing the same signature and M.O…."

Cragen continued to explain the case as he walked over to the coffee maker. Rape and donuts at six AM and Olivia knew she was home again, back at SVU.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Thank you, Dick Wolfe and company, for your wonderful programming. 

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Some graphic violence, sexual situations. 

**Reviews:** Please. Thank you for all of the reviews. My deepest apologies for the delay in getting this up – I thought I would get it posted prior to vacay, but alas, I was mistaken. This chapter was a bit more difficult (and longer) than I had anticipated. 

**Chapter Five**

The pain wasn't nearly as bothersome as the cold. While the wounds in his side and head had been numbed to a dull ache by the morphine, the bitter air seemed to burrow right into the marrow of his bones, taking root and flourishing through every cell in his body. Dressed as he was only in the thin, hospital regulation gown, Elliot had asked the nurses repeatedly to turn the temperature up. Nothing had changed though, and he was resigned to stay burrowed under the sheets and watch monotonous day-time programming to try and ease his discomfort.

It had been four days, and already he was jumping out of his skin. It didn't seem fair that his mind was racing but his body was so weakened. He wanted to be back at work, wanted to be up and on the streets again. And he needed to see her.

Elliot had received plenty of visitors over the past several days; all of his children, Fin, Munch, Cragen, several other cop friends and family. _But not Olivia._

His thoughts always returned to her. Her absence was more painful than anything else he had endured the past several days. It felt like withdrawal; the clean, soft smell of the soap she used, the warmth she seemed to radiate, the honeyed whiskey sound of her voice. He had become acclimated to her constant presence by his side; she was his partner, his best friend, the one to whom he entrusted with his life. Since their partnership almost a decade ago, he had never gone so long without at least hearing her voice on the phone. It left a feeling of uncomfortable emptiness, a burning ache in his heart that he did not want to dwell on for the sake of his sanity.

Elliot had tried to call her multiple times with no success. He was left to skim bits and pieces of information from his visitors. And while he had learned of her physical state, no one was able to provide any sort clue to her well-being. Elliot hadn't been the only one she was avoiding. To that he imagined her in her apartment, alone with her guns and thoughts.

He sighed, trying to clear his head. Glancing back up at the television, he snorted in disgust. God damn Passions or Obsessions or whatever this show was called. Not the same one Kathy used to watch, but same genre. The plots were ludicrous. The only daytime show he could stomach was NYPD Blue reruns in an uncharacteristically early afternoon time slot. Munch's idiosyncratic fascination with the Sipowitz cop had guaranteed Elliot's passing familiarity with the show.

He turned the television off, tossing the remote onto his bedside table and settling back into the 45 degree angled slant of his bed. He closed his eyes, consciously relaxing his body at the same time preparing his mind for the on slot of dreams. It would be a mixture of images; the horrors of the streets, the blood gushing from his left lung, and his partner, her beautiful brown eyes drawing him in, dragging him under while her sweet, melodic laughter led him down the carnival path.

"Elliot."

His eyes flicked open. He was slower to turn his head. Enough experience on the job had his façade cool even while his chest had constricted at the sound of her voice.

Olivia stood in the doorway to his private room. She looked every bit a cop, but with an understated femininity that made it clear she was all woman. _A man's fantasy and a perp's nightmare. _

He took in her appearance unhurriedly, with a reverence usually reserved for reunited lovers. Black slacks and short-heeled black loafers. Her standard white tank top with a lavender button-down dress shirt over that, the three top buttons undone. Today she wore her horizontal shoulder holster with the Glock, the leather straps a sharp contrast to her soft cotton shirt. Bulge under the fabric at her left bicep where Elliot knew her bullet wound was bandaged. Smoky eye shadow and mascara giving her eyes a more haunting quality; clear gloss slicked over her soft lips sparkling like glass.

Olivia stared back at him silently. She knew that this was going to be hard, but the reality made a mockery of her mental preparations. Her hands were shoved deep in her pockets in a conscious move to prevent any fidgeting as she looked back at Elliot. His blue eyes were intense; she felt like a pinned butterfly under his perceptive gaze. No one else could make her feel this way, that he could read her, _know_ her intimately, just by looking at her.

"You cut your hair."

Her right hand absently went to her hair, her long fingers slipping through the soft, freshly shorn strands. If she had allowed herself to think about it too long, she would analyze the motive of the haircut and how it mirrored that of a victim showering herself clean after a rape. Remove it all. Shower, cut and shave. The memory twined with the physical.

She stared back at him. There were several moments of silence, and then her shiny lips drew up in small smile.

"Yeah. I love the look you're sporting too, Stabler."

He looked at her blankly for a second, and then erupted into laughter. Since it was his lung and ribs that gave him the most pain and required the rehab, he often forgot about his temple wound. The doctors had to shave the right side of his head, a shitty job because for some reason, going to twelve years of medical school didn't guarantee one could hold a Bic razor straight. Six stitches and then a bulky white gauze bandage on top of that.

"Pretty, ain't it? My barber always does a bang up job." He grinned at her, beckoning her forward with a quick gesture of his right hand.

"Well, come on in, Liv. Pull up a chair, stay for awhile."

She moved out of the door frame and made her way into the room. Olivia walked over to a large, comfy looking chair in one corner, and pushed it across the flat, beige carpet of the small room to get closer to Elliot's bedside. She paused for a moment after positioning the chair on the right side of his bed. She stood behind the chair, both hands resting loosely on the back cushion, her focus on Elliot. His smile hadn't quite faded yet, laughter still warming his ice blue eyes.

"Liv?"

"I, uh, I've been meaning to give these back to you," she spoke quietly. Her hand was in her right pants pocket as she moved around the chair, sitting down on the very edge of the cushion, her left thigh flush against the metal frame of his bed. She held out her hand, his black rosary beads pooled in her palm.

Any trace of laughter was now gone from his face. His focus was intent on the black glass beads and their metal crucifix, the emaciated Jesus showing signs of time and wear. Elliot's lips drew out thin and Olivia knew he was remembering.

She had been with him. She had the rosary in her hand, resting her forehead against them. Her other hand was curled around his. He came out of the fog, out of the damp earth of his near death dream and she was there. An angel, pulling him back, bringing him to life. _"I was in a fairytale. You were a bullet with butterfly wings."_

His focus shifted from the beads back to her face. She blinked, staring wordlessly back at him.

"These were my grandmother's. Not much to look at, but so much history. There was a time or two when I was a kid that I was sure she was going to beat me with them, infuse more respect for the church and so on," he chuckled softly. He looked back down at the rosary, his voice lowered. "She gave it to me years ago. I think it was around the time Maureen was born."

His hand left the bed; his fingertips smoothed over the back of her open hand. His strong fingers curled over hers, closing her palm around the rosary.

"I want you to keep it, Liv."

"Elliot, I couldn't…"

"Please." His eyes were intent when they met hers again. "I gave it to you because I wanted you to have it." His thumb absently caressed over the fingers of her closed palm, gently pressing them into the cool beads. Goosebumps trailed up her arm in an unchecked response to his touch.

"El, I…"

"No, Liv. It's yours. You saved my ass, partner. The only lucky charm I'll ever need is you," he still spoke quietly, his signature grin pulling at the sides of his mouth again.

She closed her eyes, knowing there was no use arguing at this point. His hand left hers, and she opened her eyes again, slowly pocketing the beads.

She leaned back in the chair, a little unnerved by the ever present lull in conversation. She licked her lips, forcing a smile.

"So, I'm working a case with Munch. You wouldn't believe his whole theory on the plane that hit the Pentagon on 9/11. Munch has evidence that there was a missile…"

"Jesus, Munch is a piece of work. I'm surprised he hasn't checked your neck for the CIA chip yet," Elliot said with a cross between a laugh and a snort. "But rehab shouldn't take too long, according to the docs and I'll be back. And he hasn't mentioned aliens yet, right…?"

"But I've been keeping busy. That case, and then I still have the Clarkson file."

Elliot's left eyebrow arched. "Why? Novak told me IA was through."

"Yes, but I'm thinking there's more to this. Huang might have been perfect on his original work-up of these killings. What if there is someone else out there, El? What if we missed…?"

"Has something else happened? Another girl?" He leaned forward; bandaged and weakened, but still every part the detective.

"No, but I have a feeling...," Olivia's voice trailed off. Elliot was quiet for a moment; he trusted his partner. Her hunches had turned out extremely beneficial with prior investigations.

"Bring me the file. We can go over it. If we missed something, we can find it together, Liv."

She nodded her agreement. He would be able to assist where no one else could. She hadn't been able to spend much time with the Clarkson file after her discussion with Cragen this morning, but it was constantly in the back of her mind. She knew there was something more, something that was missed, and it weighed on her. She was able to focus and do her same intense investigating with Munch on his new case, but she couldn't put her heart fully into anything else until the Clarkson case was resolved.

She sighed, glancing around the room and then back to him. "So when do you think they'll release you?"

"Not exactly sure yet. There's still rehab, but most of it is outpatient. I think I'll be able to go home within the following week."

Her hand was at the hem of his white sheet, her fingernails brushing lightly against the seam. "Will you get a nurse for awhile, maybe some sort of in-home care?"

His laughter was short; he shook his head with a grin. "Seriously, Liv. I think they'll slap some sort of cast around my ribs and send me off with instructions to come back occasionally for rehab. Nurse. Ha. On our medical plan?"

She smiled. "All right, El. I guess I was just hopeful for your sake."

The room fell silent again. Elliot looked away from her and to the IV machine on the other side of his bed. He reached out his left hand, unhooking the clear tub from the hook attached to the wall behind the machine.

"Walk with me?"

A sudden nervousness darted through her torso. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"I've did a few trips up and down the hall yesterday with Cragen, Liv. Gotta start some where." He turned his attention away from the IV and back to her. "I'll be starting rehab either tomorrow or the day after, with the treadmill. And the IV is the only thing I'm attached to right now…for some nutrients and the painkillers. I already took the finger clip off for the heart monitor when I woke up this morning."

"Is it safe?"

He looked at her quietly. The concern was evident in her face, the way her eyebrows had lowered slightly and her lips parted a fraction. He forced himself to turn away from her again and back to the machine, repeating the movements he had memorized from the nurses.

"Of course. It has wheels. I just change it to the battery mode…there…and I'll take you to the snack machine down the hall. Dangerous part of the trip will be keeping this gown closed over my ass so I don't flash the civilians," he chuckled, turning back to her. "Come on, Olivia. Snickers and some bad coffee, my treat."

She laughed then, the small, sweet sound never frequent enough for him. "And where are you keeping the change for this little meal, Stabler?"

He smirked at her, watching as she stood up from the chair and smoothed out the front of her pants in an automatic gesture. "Well, that's a good point, Detective. I haven't seen my wallet or my gun since they cut my clothes off and stuck me in this dress." He saw her smile fade as the memory of being rushed into the ER came back to her. "But I could always hit up one of the nurses. Or maybe with our combined strength we could tip the machine just in the right way to…"

"God, El, stop it," she laughed, shaking her head. "I've got change. You'll just owe me. I'll add it to the list."

"I'm glad you've made up a tab, Liv."

She walked over to the other side of the bed, watching as he unhooked the last wire attaching the IV machine to the wall. He was sitting up completing now in the bed, the sheet rumpled around his waist. Under his thin gown, there was a large bulge on his left side, starting under his armpit and continuing down to his waist. Olivia knew without asking that it was the bandage and support belt for his wounded lung and ribs.

Following his lead, she helped him with the guardrail on the left side, lowering it and folding it flush to the undercarriage of the bed. Unsure of how much to assist him, scared to underestimate how weak his body was, she helped him pull off the sheets, pushing the fabric over to the right side against the other guardrail.

She couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The gown ended just above his knees, giving her a view of his muscular, tan, hair-covered legs. His feet were covered with the hospital regulation bed socks, rolled down to his ankles. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen his bare legs, and the image had her insides sparring between a sudden feeling of giddiness and desire.

"What?" He sounded defensive.

She looked away from his legs and back to his face. "A tan, Stabler? It's October."

He smirked, shaking his head. "It's natural, Liv. Don't harass me…I'm an injured man."

She laughed, leaning closer. "Okay, okay. Now tell me how to do this. You lead. The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

His eyes caught hers on the last line.

"It's okay, Liv. We'll take it slow," he spoke softly. She swallowed, not trusting herself to reply. She reached out her hand instead.

He pushed with his right hand until he was on the edge of the left side of the bed. She helped him gently twist his body to face hers, shifting his muscular legs so they hung off the bed, careful of keeping his gown in place. He was sitting up fully now, nearly face to face with her because of the height of the bed, his legs dangling over but not quite touching the carpet.

"Come closer." His voice was lower this time. She kept a constant check on her breathing, focusing to keep it even as she moved against the bed frame between Elliot's knees.

She scolded herself that this was her partner, he was weak, and there was nothing sexual about any of this. He wanted to walk with her; he needed to get better and this would help. She wished beyond hope that the action in itself wasn't so difficult and her own body wasn't betraying her emotions. She needed to focus, damn it.

His left hand took her right hand for stability, favoring his injured side. His right hand gripped her shoulder in a gesture that came across as more comforting than burdensome to Olivia. He pressed against the side of the bed, slowly sliding off the mattress so his feet touched the ground and he was leaning back on the frame.

She smiled suddenly; this was Elliot, standing in front of her. Shot two times, and he was still okay. The flood of relief she felt she couldn't explain even if she tried.

"What?" Elliot asked, curious about her smile.

"You, El. You were shot twice, in the chest and head no less, and now you're walking…"

"Not yet. Here," he grunted, pulling a little on her as he pushed off the frame. Standing fully now, he was relieved that nearly all of the unsteadiness from yesterday was gone. He leaned on her shoulder heavily, his other hand gripping hers tightly.

"Are you okay?"

"Aren't I always?" He countered. She smiled.

"Right, El."

His left hand released hers, his right hand tightening on her shoulder. She felt his left hand against her rib cage, underneath the shoulder holster. He pulled her gently against him with strength she didn't realize he had back yet. With one hand against his waist and the other at the thin material at his hip, it suddenly occurred to her that this was the closest she had ever physically been to her partner.

His breath was a tickle against her ear, his cheek so close that she could feel the warmth of his skin but not the actual texture. She closed her eyes, shivering faintly with reaction.

"I missed you, Liv," he said quietly. His cheek grazed against hers, the hand at her side contracting. She felt the heat of his hand under two layers of fabric and locked her knees in a physical effort to keep from leaning closer into him.

He smelled clean, like mint and freshly laundered cotton. He was more muscular, taller really, than she had remembered. But she had never been this close, embraced, cheek to cheek with her partner. Her whole body was fighting a battle; a part of her wanted to console him with friendly banter, pull back from this foreign embrace, and help him walk the hall. Another part of her needed this. Needed to feel his body against hers, warm and inviting and vulnerable. _Years and years and years…._

"It nearly killed me. On the concrete, helpless, knowing you were facing that bastard down with a gun. Nothing, nothing I could do but just watch. It follows me in my nightmares, Liv, that fear of losing you…"

Her hands trembling, she moved back a fraction, fear and desire pushing her limits. She rested her forehead lightly against his right shoulder, slowing her breathing to a regular pace.

"It's normal between partners, El." Her voice was low against the fabric at his shoulder. "But I'm fine. And you're getting better and we'll get back out on the streets and back to catching all these bastards…"

His hand had left her ribcage and was now at her neck, finger sliding against her jaw while his thumb smoothed under her chin. He tilted her face up gently so they were face to face again.

She was the most beautiful woman he knew. Not just physically, but _her._ Her heart radiated warmth. She seemed so alone sometimes, but then with the victims, she would reach out. She took in their pain, was sensitive to the brutality that the job entailed day after day. She was an angel among mortals, and she had no idea how many lives she had touched.

"I said some things," Elliot said quietly, looking down at her.

She blinked, looking away from his intense blue eyes and down to his mouth. This conversation scared her. It would have been amusing that a woman who could bring down a man twice her size, barehanded no less, would be scared of words. But this was her partner. And she didn't believe in happy endings.

"I know."

"I meant them, Liv."

She drew in her lower lip, staring back at him. Unsure of what to say, what to do. Here it was, and it was her choice. Whatever she might say next could change everything. _Years and years and years…._

"Daddy! Oh, Olivia!"

Olivia pulled away from Elliot so fast she almost stumbled. She had her hands on his arms again in a split second to stable him, even though he had remained steady when she had jerked back.

Maureen stood in the open doorway, looking every bit of Elliot and Kathy, a mixture of blonde liveliness and serious, ice blue eyes reflecting humor and knowledge.

Olivia was caught off guard, though recovered her composure quickly, as Maureen bolted across the room and into Olivia, squeezing the older women tightly in a hug. Elliot touched Maureen's hair in a gentle gesture, smiling softly at Olivia who still looked a little stunned.

"Maureen…?"

"Oh, Olivia! Thank you so, so, much for saving Dad. I can't tell you how much…I mean, how thankful...when Mom called me at school and told me he had been shot…," Maureen trailed off. She looked up, her blue eyes shiny with unshed tears. "I'm so glad you were there, 'Livia."

Olivia smiled, tucking a blond strand of hair back behind Maureen's ear. "I'm glad I was too, Maureen."

Maureen smiled back at Olivia, easing up a little on her embrace but still keeping her arms draped around Olivia in a loose hug. She looked from Olivia to her father and then back again.

"So what's going on? Are you taking Dad out for a stroll in the hall?"

"Um, I actually have to get back to the precinct," Olivia said, keeping her voice even. "Munch will probably be back from the lab by now, and we need to go over the results on the victim of this latest case. DNA, blood, all that good stuff…"

Elliot's eyes caught hers over Maureen's head. The look was complicated and she knew that their conversation wasn't finished.

"You'll bring in the file, Liv?"

"Of course."

Maureen switched from Olivia to Elliot, supporting her father at the same time burrowing close to him. Her face was turned up to his, and Olivia felt a pang of sadness, for the love in Maureen's eyes for her father was obvious, and Olivia would never know what that felt like.

"Well, it was nice seeing you again, Maureen. I'm sorry I can't stay," Olivia said with a smile to the shorter woman.

Maureen smiled back. "Come for dinner, sometime, 'Livia. We should all do something together. It would be fun, right, Dad?"

Elliot's eyes hadn't left Olivia's. "That would be nice. Wouldn't that be nice, Liv?"

"Yeah. Nice." Olivia walked to the door, turning back one more time. "I'll see you later, El."

He nodded in response. She turned around, walking through the door, her hands in her pockets. She felt his eyes on her as she left the room, and she tried not to cry.

_Years and years and years…._


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Thank you, Dick Wolfe and company, you guys are awesome, but could you please, please bring a little joy into their lives?

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Some graphic violence, sexual situations. 

**Reviews:** Please. All of you that have left feedback are great – thank you! Special thanks to Hepburn – that email "push" helped this chapter.

**A/N:** I apologize this took so long to update. My other projects have had to come first. But I still love (!) SVU (of course) and my favs Elliot and Olivia. FYI: This chapter may seem a little "different", but it will all "fit" in the next three chapters.

**Chapter Six  
**

The place was every bit the image of a seedy downtown bar. Peanut shells crunched underfoot, the beer was mediocre, and an old Ted Nugent song was screaming in scratched up beauty through a vintage juke box in the corner. The clientele was just as reputable, divided among the beefy, sweat-stained construction workers playing pool at the lone table, the couples hidden in booths in various states of fornication, and the drunks lined up along the bar. It fit Olivia's mood perfectly.

After finishing up shift with Munch, the last thing she had felt like doing was going back to her empty apartment. She didn't want to spend another night drowning in the constant flow of thoughts, some pathetic TV dinner warming her belly, her guns as her only companions.

Munch and Fin had invited her out, Munch nearly convincing her it was a good idea with his steady conspiracies theories; if anything, surely that would give her mind a rest. But while she didn't want to be alone, it would be painful to pretend normalcy in front of the few friends she had. She didn't want to lie to them, she didn't want to drink beers and tell old cop stories and laugh like her world hadn't been totally altered just four days ago.

"_Livia, damn it…Love you."_ His words haunted her. For years she had lived at the edge of Elliot's life, seeing his love for Kathy, feeling his pride and patience for his children, his concern and almost fatherly compassion for her. How many men she had dated and none of them had come close to the perfection of her partner. That she would give her life for him was never a question, but the revelation that his thoughts mirrored hers had put her life into a spin. Elliot wanted her, needed…_her_. And that left her feeling more lost than she had ever been before in her life.

She closed her eyes, pushing the thoughts out with a violent shove as she took a hearty swig of the warmed beer. She set the empty glass down on the wooden counter, reaching absently to scratch at her bandaged bullet wound again, covered discretely as it was by her thin black jacket. The pain had numbed into a dull ache, replaced by an intense itch as her body healed itself.

"'Nother beer, beautiful?"

She turned slowly to her left, taking in the large man sitting on the barstool next to her. His name was Tom, or Bob, or something similar, and his flirting wasn't all unappreciated since it caused a distraction from the constant replay of today's events in her head.

"Sure."

She watched him order another draft from the thin man behind the long mahogany counter, paying him with a couple of wadded up dollar bills. Olivia took the offering wordlessly. She didn't want to think anymore; she was exhausted and just wanted to drink and forget.

Her acquaintance shifted in his barstool, his thigh brushing up against hers, dragging her attention away from the frothy surface of her fourth beer and back up to him. He was a big guy, a firefighter in Queens if she remembered right from their initial banter, and he was quite a bit younger than her, early twenties if she had to place it. Probably 6'4", though it would be more of an estimate since he hadn't moved from the same barstool since the moment she arrived over an hour ago. He was attractive in that urban Italian sort of way with black hair, brown eyes, broad chest, and hairy arms made muscular with manual labor instead of some gym.

She caught herself profiling him and smirked, looking away and taking another gulp of beer.

"What?" His accented drawl was loud to reach her through the music.

She glanced back at him. "Nothing." What else could she say? That she could pick him out in a line up if she had to? That she looked at him not as a woman looks at a potential lover but as a cop looks at a possible perp?

She sighed. That was her life. There was very little gray area between perpetrators and victims. Her mind functioned liked that, as pure cop, even outside the job. The only person that seemed to break through it, that could reach the vulnerable woman underneath, was the same man that had been off limits to her for so long. And now that it was possible…

She took another swill of beer. Since she had left Elliot's hospital room at ten this morning, she had problems focusing on anything but him and their conversation.

"So, you come here a lot?"

"No. You?" She countered, thankful again for the distraction.

"Nah. But if you're plannin' on makin' it back soon, I'll be too." His smile appeared more as a leer to her, and she shifted on the leather barstool, breaking the contact between their thighs.

"Well, that's sweet of you, but I'm really not into the bar scene."

"Shame. So what do you do for fun, babe?"

The unexpected heavy hand on her right shoulder tensed her body instantly; her senses were razor sharp, splitting through the alcoholic haze. Her right hand had instinctively slipped inside the thin black jacket she was wearing, fingertips brushing against the hidden shoulder holster. The leather was smooth against her white tank top, sitting snug against her ribcage under her left armpit. She had turned on the barstool in less than a breath, ready for any confrontation.

"God, Munch, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Munch stood less than a foot away from her, looking the same way he had been when she left him at the precinct over three hours ago. Black slacks, grey shirt and tie, black, knee-length over-coat, same signature smirk. His hand lifted from her shoulder and he adjusted his tinted glasses, his brown eyes moving from her, to her acquaintance, to her beer, and then back to her face as he sat down on the empty barstool to her right.

"Just checking your sobriety without the breathalyzer."

"I took a cab, John."

"That makes two of us," Munch replied. He noticed the man to Olivia's left giving him a curious, territorial look. One of his grey eyebrows quirked up in response, but then he turned away, hailing down the thin bartender. Olivia watched Munch order a whiskey on ice, her lips pressed together in a line.

"Munch, why are you here?" She asked as Munch took a sip of the amber colored liquor, the ice clinking against the glass audible to her as Ted Nugent drifted into a tamer howl.

"Who is this guy?"

Olivia turned to her left; her new acquaintance was staring at Munch in open annoyance, his brows lowered over dark eyes.

"Well, Tom…"

"It's Ron."

"Well, Ron, this is my…," Olivia paused. What exactly was Munch to her? "This is my friend John. We work together."

"Lucky, aren't I?" Munch winked, his scarred and weathered face still pulled into a grin. Ron looked startled for a moment, his emotions quickly turning back to visible anger at the smaller, older man. The fact that this attractive, robust twenty-something man was feeling threatened by Munch would have amused Olivia if she wasn't sitting between the two.

"Munch…," Olivia started to scold him.

"Did Olivia tell you she's a cop?" Munch asked Ron, ignoring Olivia. By Ron's reaction, Olivia realized she hadn't mentioned it for the hour she had been here. His black eyebrows shifted upwards, his face reflecting his surprise.

"Nah. Really?"

"Yeah." Munch was still grinning, his voice dropping into a fake conspiratorial whisper. "She works in sex crimes."

"Damn." Ron leaned back on his barstool, his eyes shifting from Olivia to John and then back to Olivia. A slow smile spread across his tanned face, and Olivia's reaction was immediate, disgust and revulsion scooping like frozen steel into her stomach. "Why didn't you say nothin', babe? That sounds hot."

"_Nzzzt. _Wrong answer, pal," Munch replied, smirking. He took another sip of whiskey, winking at Olivia over the edge of his glass. She ignored him, turning back to Ron, her skin feeling flushed with anger.

"Hot? How can you think that? There is nothing remotely _hot_ about sex crimes…"

"Hey, babe, don't get so worked up," Ron tried to soothe her, his right hand reaching out to squeeze her left thigh. Ice water spiked her veins.

"Remove your hand from my leg. Now," Olivia spoke evenly.

"And don't call her babe," Munch added from Olivia's right.

Ron's hand lifted away from Olivia's leg slowly, his attention locked on Munch. The look he gave Munch this time was violent.

"Hey, fuckhead, me and her were gettin' to know each other over some beers before you came outta no where. What are you, fucking stalking her? Get lost."

Munch picked up his glass again, rolling his wrist so the liquid swirled in a slow circle. Olivia felt the almost palpable agitation of the man to her left at Munch's calm, laid back demeanor. Munch finally took another slow, long drink, resting his empty glass back on the counter.

"I'm not going anywhere unless she asks," Munch replied, his tone light, the smirk still there as he glanced at Olivia. He shifted his focus to Ron. "And that's _Detective _Fuckhead to you, dumb ass."

Olivia saw the visible shift of anger to sullenness on Ron's face as it finally clicked. Two cops. Not his lucky night. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"Well, I'm done." Munch stood up, stretching, looking around the busy bar and then back to Olivia. "Feel like an evening walk in the park, Olivia?"

"Absolutely." She pushed up from the barstool, shifting around towards the right side to get away from the counter.

Ron's hand clamped down on her left bicep, and if his hold alone wasn't strong enough to cause her pain, her bullet wound screamed at the harsh grip, pain searing through the injury like scalding water on naked flesh.

Her right fist made contact with his jaw, the movement shocking him into releasing her arm. She pulled back and he grabbed at her right forearm, his other hand reaching for her throat. She deflected and pushed hard into his chest, heaving him up and over her head. Olivia spun around, her right foot, still encased in a modest black loafer, pressing squarely across the neck of the man lying on his back in front of her. Her left foot was solid on the dirty floor, both of her hands curled into loose fists.

The bar had gone quiet; even Ted Nugent seemed to be singing softer in response to the situation. All eyes were on 6'4", 250 pound man lying among the peanut shells, breathing heavily, his face red, and the slender woman standing over him, her hair mussed and lipstick smeared but without a scratch.

Ron shifted, his right arm moving up. Olivia increased the pressure of her foot slightly against his throat.

"Please. Give me an excuse."

He stopped moving, staring at her with wide eyes, still panting.

Munch cleared his throat, still behind her, next to the bar. Olivia glanced back at him. He had his badge out, a forced smile on his weathered face.

"It's all right, people. NYPD. We're just trying to clear up a little misunderstanding here. Please, folks, get back to your libations. No need for alarm," he addressed the crowd loudly with authority.

There was a moment more of silence as the twenty or so patrons stared at the bizarre scene. And then, like true New Yorkers who had seen it all, they drifted back to their drinks and conversations, the pool game continuing from where it had left off. They were still being watched by a few people, but with significantly less interest.

Munch leaned close to Olivia, glancing down at Ron. "Bad day, Olivia?"

"Bad week."

Munch grunted, and looked down at the man splayed out on the floor. "Well, it looks like you're up the unsanitary tributary without any means of locomotion, my friend."

Munch laughed at his own joke, and then turned to walk back towards the bar. Olivia could hear pieces of his conversation as he spoke with the bartender and whatever management had appeared from the backroom.

"Hey, um. I, uh, I didn't mean to touch you."

Olivia glanced down again at Ron. He still looked shocked, but his breathing had evened out. He swallowed nervously and she relaxed her pressure against his throat.

"You _grabbed_ me," she corrected him.

"Yeah. Uh, yeah, grabbed. Listen, I'm sorry. Really." He looked scared, the emotion making him appear on the very early side of his twenties. "You're not gonna arrest me, are you? Really, I'm sorry. I am."

Olivia sighed. Her bicep was throbbing, her knuckles ached from the punch and she had consumed enough beer that all of the action had made her nauseous. She had wanted this night to be over. Simple. Leave work, change, drink a couple beers at a bar, go home alone, go to bed. Sleep. Pray for no thoughts, no dreams. Wake up and work another day, another case.

Nothing in her life was ever simple. It was a lesson she continually failed to accept.

"Give me your wallet."

"What?"

"Ron, don't make me repeat myself," Olivia replied. "Slowly."

He nodded as much as he could with her foot against his throat. His right hand slid down his side, his hips rising off the dirty wood-planked floor as he reached into his back jeans pocket. He lifted his arm slowly to her, handing over the battered, brown leather wallet.

She flipped it open with her left hand, locating his driver's license with relative ease. She pulled it out, staring silently at the information. It was methodical, a part of her job, a part of her life. She didn't have a photographic memory, but she could make certain things a permanent part of her mind. And now Ron D'Annuzio's address and Social Security number joined the million or so other details she would take to her grave.

Olivia slid the driver's license back into place, closed the wallet and handed it back to him. He pocketed it nervously, his eyes shifting from her to her left. Munch was once again at her side.

"What do you think, Liv?"

She glanced at Munch and then back at Ron. "Listen, I don't want to arrest you. But you've made a mistake, Ron."

He nodded wordlessly again, his attention completely on Olivia.

"Don't ever grab a woman when she walks away from you. Ever."

Ron nodded again, the movement jerky, his eyes still wide.

"We're not going to arrest you tonight, Ron. But I know who you are. I know where you live. From here on out, you are on my personal list, and I will know if you've made a wrong move. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," his voice wavered on the word. Olivia shifted her foot from his neck to the floor. She reached down to him with her right hand.

He took it gingerly and she pulled him up. Standing, he towered over her and Munch, but Olivia had no fear of him.

"There's a cab waiting outside," Munch said. "You need to take it directly home."

"Okay."

Munch gestured toward the door and the three of them walked towards it together. She saw Munch mouth something to the bartender and another man standing behind the counter, obviously both men relieved that they were leaving.

Olivia grabbed her trench coat from the wall on the way out the wooden and stained glass doors, shoving her arms into it as they walked into the blustery October night.

She stood by the doors, hands deep in the pockets of her coat as she watched Ron get into the back of the cab. Munch leaned in through the front passenger window to talk to the driver. He said something, laughed, and then gestured with a pointed finger in a circle next to his head. Olivia could hear laughter from the driver. Munch stepped back on the curb and the cab drove off.

"Thanks for getting me into a bar fight, John."

"All in a good night's work, Olivia," he replied, deadpan. "I was serious about the walk, by the way. There's a 24 hour café not too far from here. The coffee's shit, but we could get some greasy eggs and bacon…"

"God, Munch." Olivia held a hand against her mouth, nausea burning her throat at his comment.

"Had enough beer?"

"_One_ beer would make that sound disgusting."

"Fair enough. I'll eat the greasy spoon special, you can have some toast and a Coke. I wouldn't suggest the coffee."

They started walking together on the sidewalk, the street to their left busy with traffic even at the late hour.

"Why did you come tonight, John?"

"Want me to tell you my theory about the Bermuda Triangle and Parapsychology?"

"No, I'm afraid after all of the beer I've had, it will make sense," she laughed. Olivia reached for his hand. His fingers curled around hers and they slowed their pace. "John…"

"It's a sound theory, Olivia."

"Munch…" She stopped walking and he turned to face her.

"I was worried," he spoke quietly. "I've been concerned, but I didn't realize until after speaking with Stabler today…"

"You spoke with Elliot?" Warmth spread through her body at the mention of his name.

"Fin and I went to see him after shift. Fin couldn't stay, something with the incest case he's working on, but I was there for about an hour."

Olivia stared at Munch under the street light, gauging his non-verbals. Even with the harsh shadows, she could read him.

"He told you to follow me." It wasn't a question.

"No, Olivia. He says he's tried to call you, but you don't answer. He's worried, as we all are, that this shooting, this case, is particularly hard on you. He's right. You killed a man. How can that _not_ affect you?"

Annoyance that Elliot would express personal concern for her to Munch intertwined with her relief that he hadn't mentioned any of his personal conversations or revelations with her to anyone else. That she would not be able to handle. None of the others could know her heart and how she really felt.

"How long?" She asked, releasing his hand to rub the back of her neck.

"I followed you from your apartment to Ecklie's Gun Shop on 35th."

Olivia sighed. "It's personal, John."

"Tell me."

"Some women buy expensive shoes when they're upset. I buy guns."

"I find that strangely erotic," he smirked.

"Shut up, Munch."

He laughed. "Heckler and Koch P2000. Nine millimeter. Very nice. Did you get the interchangeable backstraps?"

"It comes with the gun. And since you tailed me so well, obviously you already know the answer."

"Do you have it now?" He asked.

"No. It's in my kitchen between the blender and toaster. Why the hell do you care?"

He turned wordlessly and started walking again. Having no choice but to follow, she hurried to keep up.

"I want you to stop, John. I don't need a babysitter."

"Obviously. That was impressive. I don't think I could have tossed that guy but you made it look easy." Munch glanced at her, still walking. "I'm sorry, Olivia. I was just making sure you were all right."

She bit her lower lip, wondering how much to say. She didn't want to lie to him, he was one of the closest friends she had, but she couldn't tell him the truth.

"I'm…working on it," she sighed. "I have a lot on my mind. But I'm not losing it. Honest. I'll make it through. I'm sorry I have problems expressing it."

"Don't apologize, Liv." He looked over at her, slowing down their pace and then stopping again. "I know you're a private person. I just want to help you. Isn't that what friends do, Liv?"

She reached up impulsively, kissing his weathered cheek. Olivia stood back, smiling at him, the smile softening when she noticed the blush reddening his face, highlighted by the streetlamp.

"Thank you, John. That's exactly what I needed."

He smiled back at her, holding out his hand. "Breakfast?"

She took his hand and they continued their walk towards the café.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Dick Wolfe – you rock!

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Some graphic violence, sexual situations and angst (oh, the angst).

**Reviews:** Please. All of you that have left feedback are great – thank you! You make my day!

**A/N:** I'm sorry this took so long to update – I suck.

**Chapter Seven**

It was busier than yesterday, the sterile atmosphere warmed by the throng of people bustling back and forth down the hallway branching off from the ER. Though there were always proud new fathers mingling and an abundance of colorful flowers at every turn, the hospital would continue to bring her dread. Because this was also the place she visited the victims, heard the doctors describe the most horrific details of crimes committed against society's innocents. The memory of the shooting only darkened her view of this place of healing; arriving with Elliot in the back of an ambulance, watching as the white coats flocked around him on the stretcher as they barked orders to each other in the foreign language of doctors and all she could do was stare numbly at the bloodied, broken body of her fallen partner.

The visual stabbed at her heart and she knew for certain it would greet her each time she set foot in this hospital, no matter the case she would be working.

Olivia sighed, rubbing her forehead with her right hand. The remainder of her hangover was just a dull ache, nearly made forgettable by aspirin and the sharp pain in her left bicep. It was with great dismay this morning when re-wrapping the injury Olivia had noticed half of the stitches had been ripped out from her bullet wound. Ron's grip from last night had been more forceful than she had first thought. Between the beer, and the fact that she had gone to bed last night in her clothes, she hadn't realized the extent of the damage he had inflicted. The passing thought that maybe the bastard had a bruise on his jaw, or his back might be giving him trouble this morning gave her no satisfaction. She had too much on her mind for that simple pleasure.

So Olivia's first stop in the hospital had been to see Doctor Carter to get her wound re-stitched. She gave monotone, one word answers to his concerned questioning. Olivia knew it was his job to ask, and she herself would initially think domestic abuse by the appearance of the injury. A deep, angry purple bruise in the shape of a large handprint covered her bicep like a molted ink stain, the once small bullet hole with the nice, neat stitches now a mess of raw flesh, reminding Olivia of ground meat. She was surprised the wound hadn't bleed more than it did last night, but the force of it had been held back by the heavy bandage.

A pretty young nurse stood next to Doctor Carter holding supplies, watching the doctor pull the flesh closed again – this time it would not heal into a nice little line, but a heavy, thick mass of scar tissue. The nurse was frowning slightly, and Olivia knew instinctively that she felt sorry for her.

How could she explain to this woman, to anyone really, that it was one scar of many, another addition to her physical and emotional collection? Especially now, what right did she have to mourn any bodily imperfection when her partner was lying in a bed in this same hospital, recovering from a shot to the head and chest? Broken ribs, part of his lung removed…her injury was nominal in comparison. Besides, she had long ago lost any vanity of the flesh she had ever felt. Olivia would be a cop first, a woman second.

Re-stitched and re-bandaged, the Clarkson file tucked under her right arm, Olivia made her way out of the ER through the hallways and up an elevator to the recovery area. The heels of her plain brown loafers clicking against the green tiled floor, she tried to organize her thoughts. Uneasiness tumbled around in her stomach while her hands felt oddly cold with nervousness. She would have laughed at herself; this was going to be simple, productive if they were lucky, so why was she acting like she was on the wrong side of an interrogation? This was Elliot. She drew in her lower lip absently, her footsteps slowing. Exactly – _this was Elliot_.

She approached the open door way of his private room, hesitating in the deserted hallway, her hand on the metal doorframe.

Elliot was sitting up in bed, his back to her. He was shirtless, the patterned hospital gown from her last visit draped over the foot of the bed. Green plaid boxers covered his lower half, and from her angle, and the cool temperature of the room, Olivia assumed they were probably flannel pajama bottoms.

Her eyes traveled up the length of his muscular back, absorbing the sight of his exposed flesh, pausing briefly on the tattoo that flanked his right shoulder blade. Her hands curled into fists at the involuntary warmth that spread through her belly, her body reacting to the visual she usually only saw in her dreams. Fingernails digging into her palms, she forced her eyes away from the slow appraisal of her partner's back and to the person standing on the other side of him.

The older nurse had stopped in mid sentence in her discussion with Elliot, her focus now on Olivia.

"Miss? May I help you?"

Elliot turned slightly, as much as was comfortable with his injured lung, so he could see the door. Surprise lifted his eyebrows before he could replace the look with a grin. After their last visit, he was unsure when she would return. What they had said, the memory of holding her closer than he ever had before replayed in his head like some sweet, sad love song. But here she was again, the angel from his dreams, standing in the doorway, looking as lost as he felt.

"Liv." Her name came out more like a benediction than a greeting. Elliot tore his gaze from his Olivia and turned back around to look at Nurse Robbins. "Rebecca, this is my partner, Detective Benson."

He watched as the old woman's firm mouth creased into a smile. "Ah. Well, then. Maybe you can talk some sense into Detective Stabler's head. He seems to think he can shave that scruff by himself. Doesn't seem to realize that a punctured lung might make it a little painful, eh?"

Elliot smirked at the nurse, rubbing his hair-roughened jaw with his right hand, forcing his expression to stay jovial as to not expose the pain the small movement gave him. After four days of having other people wash him, feed him, and help him take a shit, he was damn well going to shave his own beard this morning.

He turned back to the doorway, hearing the melodic chuckle of his partner. She was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest. "Being difficult, El? And here I was thinking you were the model patient."

Nurse Robbins snorted, bringing Elliot's attention back around. "Ha. This one, oh you should hear him gripe. His feet are cold, the food is crap. Yes, he's been _quite_ the model patient."

Olivia broke out in full laughter behind him. He grimaced at the old nurse, shaking his head. She was a sarcastic, tough old broad, one of his favorites of the nursing staff. "Thanks, Rebecca."

Olivia pushed off the doorframe, making her way across the beige carpet to stand next to Nurse Robbins. He looked at her from his seated position on the tall bed, his smile fading as his ice blue stare took in the full sight of his partner.

She was dressed in a cream colored open collar shirt, which looked soft, like cashmere. A brown leather jacket that had seen better days hung open, exposing her blouse but covering the shoulder strap holster he knew she was wearing. A large expandable file folder was tucked under her right arm, both of her hands in the pockets of her brown slacks.

Olivia's lips drew out in a thin line as her assumption from earlier was validated. He was indeed wearing green plaid pajama bottoms, white socks encasing his feet. Her gaze moved up his bare chest, taking in the site of the large, thick white bandage that contrasted sharply against his tan flesh. An interesting bruise scattered across his side, peeking out from under the gauze. Olivia could only guess it was due to his fractured ribs and the bullet shrapnel.

Her eyes drifted over his hair-roughened jaw, past that perfect mouth, her gaze reaching his.

Her breath caught in her throat. There was a look on her partner's face she had never seen before. His icy stare had grown dark, his expression raw, nearly violent with lust. Before she could question it, his face was neutral again, almost cheerful. Olivia blinked. It was crazy. She had to have imagined it, the look was so quick.

"It appears worse than it is, honey, so don't be letting him con you into waiting on him hand and foot, now," Nurse Robbins told Olivia with a laugh. She had been watching the look the younger woman had given her partner, and had seen the obvious concern in her brown eyes at his chest wound.

Elliot tore his gaze from Olivia back to the nurse. Thank God she had been scrutinizing Olivia instead of him. He was skilled at masking his thoughts, decades as a detective had schooled him well, but he had a feeling the old broad with all her experience would read him with ease. And hell if he wanted anyone to have any indication of the extremely erotic visual of Olivia he had just entertained in response to her slow assessment of his bare chest.

"I have a feeling I won't be coning anyone today," Elliot replied with a smirk. His voice was a little rough, lower than before. He was able to control his own body, exposed as he was in pajama bottoms in front of these two women, but his headlong response to Olivia's slow, if innocent appraisal still shook him. He cleared his throat, forcing a laugh, pushing the thought out of his head so he could focus. "But this isn't a con…"

Nurse Robbins turned back to him, one of her grey eyebrows raised.

"Call it a request," Elliot continued, still smiling. "Call it…_rehabilitation_. I mean, if a man can't shave his own face, what _can_ he do?"

Nurse Robbins snorted again. "Really now, Detective…"

Elliot gestured to one of the chairs by the bed. "Watch me if you must. But I have to start doing this myself some day."

The old woman's mouth was pursed again as she glanced at her watch. "As much as I'd love to sit here and watch you butcher your pretty little face, I do have other patients to see, Detective Stabler."

Elliot's eyes shifted from her to Olivia. "Liv?"

Olivia nodded. "I can make sure he doesn't hurt himself," she spoke, a small hint of amusement touching her voice. She moved her right hand a fraction, exposing more of the file folder under her arm. "We do have police business to discuss as well."

The older woman sighed. "Well, all right then. But let me show you the bandages, because most likely he will bleed."

"Your confidence in me is encouraging, Rebecca," Elliot laughed, watching as the nurse pointed to the supplies already lined up on his metal meal tray. She then knelt down, pulling out some gauze from lower drawer of the bedside table and setting it down next to the far water bowl on the tray.

Nurse Robbins turned back to him, tapping the face of her watch, her nail clicking against the glass face. "You do have an _actual_ rehabilitation session in forty minutes, Detective, so try and finish this up by ten, all right?"

He nodded, watching as she gave a quick good bye to Olivia and walked to entrance of the room.

"You're the best…"

"Serve you well to remember that, Detective Stabler," she shot back, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Olivia stared at the closed door, her breathing seemingly audible now in the suddenly quiet room. Part of her wanted to walk over to the door and push it open; another part laughed at that thought. What the hell was wrong with her? It was irrational, this unexpected fear of her partner, her best friend.

But that was just it. It wasn't just him. It was _her_. She was scared of her own thoughts now, and her ability to hide from him what she had successfully hidden from herself for all these years.

She closed her eyes briefly, and then glanced back at Elliot. The smile was gone, his face unreadable. Half naked, bandaged on his head and chest, arms loose at his side, Olivia imagined any other man would look vulnerable, but his icy blue stare made him look almost predatory.

"Liv…"

"I brought the file," she spoke quickly, silencing whatever he might have said. Olivia dropped the large folder on the bedside table, pushing off her battered leather jacket and tossing it over the back of the chair, in turn revealing her shoulder holster, gun snug against her left ribs. Elliot's gaze was drawn to her arms; the soft cream top was sleeveless, exposing the rather thick bandage on her left bicep.

A mix of emotions caught in his chest at the visual. _Guilt_, for not thinking first and foremost about her wound; his partner had been shot saving his life and he hadn't even asked her how she was holding up. _Anger_, that the bastard had even got a shot off at her; pride, that she took a bullet and asked for no sympathy;_ fear_, because he hadn't been able to stop it. Because if she had walked first into that alleyway instead of him, their positions would have been reversed and it would be her in this bed. The bandage on her arm forced him to acknowledge that emotion, that visceral fear of the "what if". Because if she had died….

"How's your arm?" He asked, pushing out the disturbing thought.

She stopped mid-motion in her reach for the file. "Um, fine." For a moment, she wondered if Munch had spoken to Elliot about their encounter last night, but then realized it was just a friendly question. If Elliot knew about the bar altercation, surely he would have mentioned it already.

She wasn't going to elaborate. Their usual easy banter had become forced, awkward. He sighed, pulling the meal tray so it was half across his lap, inspecting the contents. Nurse Robbins had prepared thoroughly for his shave after helping him bathe this morning. Two bowls of water, razor, towels, shaving cream, and now the offending gauze - everything he needed was lined up neatly on the tray. He glanced at Olivia again. She was sitting in the chair next to his bed now, rifling through the folder.

"So let's start from the beginning," Elliot spoke quietly, taking one of the towels from the stack and folding it across his lap. She looked up from the file, watching as he leaned over the closest bowl of water and started splashing his face. "I'll shave, and you can talk us through it again. M.O., signature, victims…what are we missing in the scheme of these crimes, Liv? If there is a second perp, how does he relate to Clarkson?"

Olivia sighed. "Good question. The theory we started with was based on two perps; even Huang's initial profile of the unknown subject centered on the belief that it was highly probable this crime was perpetrated by two completely different white males. Yes, he mentioned the bi-polar psychosis of one perp as another explanation for the different treatment of the victims, but we only stepped back to the one perp theory after Clarkson's public defender released his psych records to Novak."

"Liv, Clarkson _did_ have untreated schizophrenia."

Olivia looked up from the file in her lap. Elliot's jaw and upper lip were now covered with a thick layer of shaving cream. He picked up the razor, swirling it in the water bowl and tapping it briefly on the side of the basin. Bringing the blade up to his face, he paused for a moment, looking back at her. "What?"

Realizing she had been staring, she looked back down at the file, flipping to the next page. "You don't need a mirror, El?"

He smirked, causing the shaving cream to crease at the corners of his mouth. "No. I usually shave my face in the shower, you know, when I'm not recovering from gunshot wounds."

Face warm at the sudden visual of a naked Elliot under a stream of water, she was glad she was looking down at the file to hide the evidence of her attraction. _Damn, Liv, get your mind out of the gutter._ She had a case to solve. This was her partner and she was here to discuss police business.

"So, he had untreated schizophrenia," she continued, picking back up the train of reasoning. "And bi-polar psychosis if his records are to be believed, and from our interview, I'll agree with that assessment. Clarkson was a very violent, psychotic personality – I have no problem with the conclusion that he was the perp that killed those three girls. His fingerprints were at the scene, his DNA came up in two of the three rape kits during autopsy. But I just can't see him beautifying their faces post-mortem. Even with his bi-polar personality, the swing from intense violent rage into calmness…something doesn't fit with that and action during the crime."

"Perhaps the crime is what caused the swing, Liv. The brutal rape, mutilation, maybe afterwards the intensity of the act made his brain shift," he replied, rinsing the razor and tapping it against the side of the bowl again. "The act of dressing them up could have been caused by guilt. Hell, maybe it was even soothing to him."

She watched him slide the razor down the right side of his jaw, revealing smooth skin. Sighing, she looked back down at the file, Tammy Jensen's picture now visible. The first victim, only ten years old, her green eyes bright, freckles smattered across her little nose. The picture had been given to them by Tammy's mother, taken during the Jensen's last vacation together, the image contrasting greatly with the crime scene photos.

"Maybe you're right, El. Maybe it was soothing to the perp, but I don't think the one that put makeup on these victims was Clarkson. The precision seems to…I don't know, _calculated_, where as the crime itself wasn't."

Elliot brought the razor back to the bowl after finishing another pass down his jaw. Absently swirling the razor clean, he watched the play of emotions on her face as she scanned a certain page of the file. She was biting her lower lip in concentration and he had a sudden urge to pull that plump flesh free from the gentle assault of her teeth. Grumbling at the thought, he tapped excess water from the razor, bringing it up against his throat.

"If he had an accomplice, Liv, don't you think he would have narked? It's not like this bastard subscribed to any loyalty of any kind. And the rape he served time for in '96 was a one-man deal. Usually if a perp engages in sex crimes with a partner, it's a signature that develops early in the guy's sheet. There was no indication…"

"I know," Liv sighed, her lower lip jutting slightly in response. They had gone over this before and the reasoning was sound. She knew Elliot was repeating the information to help her; as partners they had done this more times than she could remember, discussing the aspects of the crime to bring ideas to the surface. It was an invaluable tactic and personally had made her a better detective.

She was irritated now because something _felt _off and she couldn't place it. Like a puzzle with all the pieces, and from a distance looked complete, but something was missing.

"Maybe…_damn_." Olivia tapped her fingertips on the cloth armrest of her chair, her vision blurring slightly on the crime scene photo in front of her. "Another perp, doesn't leave prints, no DNA in the victims, make-up, like little dolls…but not a pedophile?" She was murmuring to herself now, digging through the file for the autopsy on Marcie Zumalt, the one victim whose rape kit came up negative for semen. "Hmm, no latex present, but brutalized, can it be that…makes no sense...," her voice trailed off as she flipped through the coroner's report.

"_Fuck!_"

Elliot's low hiss brought Olivia's head up sharply, breaking her focus immediately from the file and to her partner. Blood trickled in a small stream from the right side of his throat as he dropped the razor in the bowl and grabbed one of the small towels, pressing it against the tiny wound.

The file folder was in the chair and Olivia was standing in front of him in a second, her warm hand pressed against his over the towel on his throat.

"Jesus, Elliot," her voice came out in a rush.

He chuckled at the concern in her large brown eyes, amused that such a small cut had her worried and at the same time enjoying the simple pleasure of her touch. "Sorry to scare you, Liv. Just a nick."

Olivia sighed, shaking her head. She tugged gently against his hand, pulling back the towel from his throat to look at the tiny injury. "The nurse wasn't kidding, was she? Is it your lung, making your arm tired?"

He grunted. "Can't a man cut himself shaving without it meaning I'm some sort of cripple?" She looked up from his neck to his face. "Seriously, Liv, I'm fine."

Not bothering with a response, she took the towel from him and placed it back on the metal tray; the tiny wound had already stopped bleeding. She reached into the bowl and retrieved the razor, wiping the handle dry with the edge of the towel. Hand posed at the rim of the metal basin, she looked back at him, surveying his half-shaved face.

"I would never think that. But for my sanity, can you please let me help you? I've seen enough of your blood to last me a lifetime, Stabler."

The admission caused an odd rush of warmth to burn through his chest. He swallowed, his blue eyes piercing hers for a long moment as he tried to find words, some sort of response, to answer her. She moistened her lower lip with a quick dart of her tongue, drawing his gaze to her mouth again. Never had he wanted to kiss her so much, feel that soft mouth against his, taste her.

"Olivia, we need to talk," he spoke in a rough whisper.

"I know." Her voice was husky with emotion and she closed her eyes briefly, trying to gain some sort of semblance of control. She brought the razor up against the right side of his face, her hand steady, pausing for a moment as she glanced from his jaw to meet his eyes again. "But not now. I don't…want to hurt you."

The double meaning of her words was thick in the quiet room. His eyelids closed as he felt the razor glide smoothly across his right cheek. Her other hand was curled at the back of his neck, supporting his head. Keeping his eyes closed, he released his other senses to the situation. The slickness of the razor on his jaw. The soft strength of her hand at his neck. The gentle abrasion of fabric as she moved closer between his thighs. The sound of her breathing, the clink and splash as she cleaned the razor between every other stroke of his beard.

Her hand against the back of his neck pressed gently upwards and instinctively his head tilted, exposing his throat to give her better access. Olivia leaned in, keeping her hands steady even as a fine tremor made its way through her body, burning everything in its path.

She continued her task, wanting to say something, _anything_, to break the languid silence, to distract the desire that was building. But she couldn't seem to form words, shaving her partner's face in slow, deliberate strokes while her mind raced. His eyes were still closed and she wondered what he was thinking. With nearly all of the thick shaving cream now gone, his face was visible to her again – thin, wide mouth, prominent nose, heavy eyelashes and eyebrows. He really was a beautiful man.

Setting the razor down on the tray, she reached over for the washcloth and dunked it into the clean bowl of water. She wrung out the excess and turned back to Elliot, pausing at the intensity in his ice blue eyes.

"El…"

"Don't fear me, Liv."

She swallowed, breaking eye contact and pressing the washcloth against his jaw. "I don't. It's not…"

"What I think?"

She let herself smile at that. Sometimes infuriating, his knack for finishing her sentences, at least he got it right most of the time. "Yes."

Olivia traced the cloth the length of his jaw, wiping away any residue left from the shaving cream. She dropped the washcloth back into the bowl and reached for a dry towel.

"Then tell me, Liv. Talk to me."

She turned back to him, pressing the dry towel against his flesh to remove any remaining water. His hand curled around her wrist, pulling her attention from his jaw back to his eyes.

"Something changed between us, El. The shooting…your injuries…," she trailed off, closing her eyes. How could she explain it? She couldn't even make it clear in her own mind.

The hand at her wrist moved gently, his thumb rubbing into her moist palm. She dropped the towel as she felt his other hand at her back, pulling her close to him. She was flush against the side of the bed now between his legs, the soft material of her shirt tickling the bare skin of his chest. Eyes closed, resting her head against his shoulder, she let herself melt into the comfort of her partner's embrace. Like coming back to a home she had never known, a feeling of satisfaction, completion, in his strong arms.

"Maybe it's something that's been there all along, Liv," his voice was soft against her ear. He heard the small hitch in her breath and closed his eyes. It felt as if he was at the edge of a cliff. Intense fear and excitement intertwined so tight he no longer had the energy to try and decipher the two emotions in response to the woman in his arms. Nothing had ever felt so right.

Her free hand was in the hair at the base of his neck and he turned his face towards her throat in response to the small movement. The soft smell of her soap greeted him and he nuzzled against her gently. Hearing her gasp, his mouth instinctively opened, and he entertained a desire he had been harboring for nearly a decade; he tasted her.

The action stole her sanity. She moaned, arching against him as a stab of unfettered lust nearly made her forget everything.

"Christ," Elliot groaned against her throat, the hand at her back pressing her roughly against him. His lung screamed in protest, but the pain was nothing compared to the sudden intense ache throbbing between them. It was frightening; he hadn't felt such raw desire in decades. _And from just a taste…_

The sound didn't register at first. Olivia opened her eyes groggily. The look Elliot gave her was almost lazy; his eyes were the darkest blue she had ever seen, his pupils dilated and his eyelids heavy.

She tore her gaze away, reaching down into her pants pocket, nearly dropping the phone before she could flip it open.

"Benson," she gasped into the phone, her breathing still heavy.

"Olivia, it's Cragen. I need you down at 22nd and River right away. There's been another one."

The sound of her captain's voice immediately sobered her. Her eyes still locked with Elliot's, she clutched the phone tighter.

"Captain?"

"M.O. is different, but the signature is the same."

Her stomach dropped at his words. M.O., or modus operandi, was how the crime was carried out, and was a dynamic in serial crimes. A killer could always change from shooting, to stabbing, to strangling his victims. But the true signature of the crime, the emotional fulfilling but unnecessary aspect, such as putting make-up on the victim post-mortem, that would always remain similar.

"Oh, God…."

Elliot's face changed from simple curiosity to concern. He reached out for her hand when he saw the dark look in her brown eyes, her lips parting in untold sadness.

"You were right, Olivia. You were right." Cragen sounded defeated, the familiar sounds of a crime scene in the background only adding to the dejected tone coming through the receiver.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Olivia replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She flipped the phone closed and pocketed it. Letting go of Elliot's hand, she walked back to the chair, hurriedly pulling on her jacket. Grabbing the Clarkson file, she paused for a moment before turning back around to her partner.

"What's happened, Liv?"

Her expression was tight when she faced him. "There's another dead girl, El. Clarkson's death didn't stop it…," she swallowed, the movement sharp.

"_Fuck._ Two perps. There's _two_ perps. God _damn_ it."

She nodded wordlessly, not knowing what to say. _You were right, Olivia._ She looked back at Elliot, both of them staring at each other in silence. What had just happened between them, another death, not knowing, not saying…

"I have to go," she said quietly.

"I know." He paused for a moment, and then reached out his hand to her. She took it without hesitation, standing in front of him again. Once more they stood in silence, both searching the face of the other with so many things to say but both knew it wasn't the time. The job came first.

He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles with a sweetness that almost brought tears to her eyes. "We still need to talk about some things, Liv."

She smiled softly; Elliot, always the man of the understatement. "We will."

"Call me with the details."

"Of course."

He nodded, and understanding the urgency, released her hand from his comforting grasp. She turned, walking towards the door.

"Liv?"

She stopped, looking back in question.

"That Heckler and Koch model doesn't fire as clean as the Glock, so be careful for me, all right?"

She blinked; a slow smile curved her mouth as the realization hit her. He had known the entire time. She shook her head, turning back around. "We'll talk later," she admonished him as she walked out the door.

Fucking Munch.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Dick Wolfe – you rock!

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Graphic violence (discussion of rape/murder) in this chapter (fidelity to the show as romance develops).

**Reviews:** Please. Your reviews bring sunshine to my day. And while I don't want to single anyone out (because each review on this story gives me the push to continue –thank you SO much!), I just wanted to give a special thanks to Mrs. Elliot Stabler. You almost made me cry!

**A/N:** I know I'm a slacker with the updates – my biggest apologies. And I know I'm really slow with the whole romance thing – trust me, I wanted them kinky and hot_ years_ ago! But soon enough…

**Chapter Eight**

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The car ride to the crime scene was one of the longest in recent memory. In actuality, it was under ten minutes from Elliot's hospital to 22nd, made even faster by the light traffic. But her own mind betrayed her – even with the radio on as a distraction, and construction noise filtering through the closed windows of the undercover cruiser, she couldn't stop thinking.

Images of the former crime scenes jumbled together in the back of her mind, Elliot's voice punctuating the pictures with details of the file. _"The act of dressing them up could have been caused by guilt. Hell, maybe it was even soothing to him."_ Who? And what kind of man would find applying make up to dead girls soothing? "_If he had an accomplice, Liv, don't you think he would have narked_?" So why didn't he? In all the time that Clarkson was in custody, why didn't he give them another perp to take the fall?

If the constant replay of the case wasn't enough to fill her thoughts, the situation she had just left had thrown her mind into a spin. The right side of her throat tingled, almost as if the flesh had been branded. She still felt his mouth there, warm lips, and then wet, as he tasted her skin.

"Damn," Olivia groaned, squeezing the steering wheel tight. The memory would make her smile if it had been between her and some past lover. But this was Elliot – _Elliot_, her partner of nearly a decade. The person she cared more for than anyone else. _**Love**, Olivia, be honest with yourself…_

She blinked. How could this happen? It _couldn't _happen. This wasn't some fucking fairytale and there couldn't be a happily ever after. Damn, they were both hardened sex crimes detectives, what would they do, move into the suburbs and make babies? It was ridiculous that she was even thinking this, that after all these years…

"_Maybe it's something that's been there all along, Liv."_

"Stop it," she whispered, trying to push Elliot's voice out of her head. She couldn't do this now, she couldn't think about her partner and the last five days. It was emotionally taxing her, and there was the job. And the job always came first.

Olivia could tell she was close to the scene without even reading street signs – the plethora of news trucks lined up on either side of the road gave it away. Finding a spot, she parallel parked the car. She turned off the ignition and leaned back in the driver's seat, closing her eyes. Absently, her hand slipped into her pants pocket, her fingertips brushing against the cool beads. She caressed the rosary, letting her mind clear in response to the movement.

Olivia sighed, opening her eyes and glancing down the street at the crowd developing. She pocketed her keys and pulled out her badge, then zipped her jacket closed before getting out of the car.

The crowd of civilians gathering around a crime scene was normal – people were usually drawn to the morbid, and would push against the police tape to get a view of death. While sometimes it was a hindrance, some of the spectators might have actually witnessed something that might be crucial to the investigation. It was the mess of reporters that had Olivia's stomach sinking further. The media had already caught on, but worse, the _amount_ of media here was a bad omen. They knew this wasn't just another dead body in NYC, but one of many of the same string. So like flies to a corpse, they swarmed with their lights and cameras, all of them pushing to get the best bite.

Olivia bit her lip as she neared the edge of the crowd. But how did they get here so fast? Did a cop tip them off? Worse yet, did the killer?

She tried to stay low profile as she moved through the crowd. The last thing she wanted today was to be jumped by some reporter. She wouldn't talk with any of them, of course, but she didn't want to be held up or photographed. She needed to get to the body, not deal with the media.

The scene came into view as Olivia maneuvered between the people mingling closest to the line. The perimeter of the scene was marked off with yellow police tape with several uniforms making sure no civilians crossed. A large tarp was pulled up like a vinyl curtain several feet high, sufficiently blocking the body and the CSU techs processing it from curious eyes. Fin was talking to two uniform cops in front of the tarp, in a discussion so adamant he hadn't noticed her yet. Olivia's gaze drifted upward; the sign "Glickman's Gallery & Frames" hung above the front doors of the store. Olivia wondered at the significance, if any, of the perp's choice to drop the body here. It was outside this tiny shop, on the sidewalk, in plain view.

_He wanted us to see. Maybe that's why he beautifies them, dresses them up – it would be obvious to place them in an area where people would get to see his "work"._

She grimaced at the thought as she flashed the closest cop her badge, ducking under the tape. She held back a grin as several of the reporters saw the action, all of them seeming to vault towards the tape to get close to Olivia. _Too late._

Olivia ignored the questions being yelled at her back. She walked over to Fin and the two uniforms.

"…need to find her. Have Kindersley do the composite. And have them start _now_. She might be the best thing we have."

Both the cops nodded and walked off towards the perimeter.

"Hey, what was that about?"

Fin turned, his expression dark, mouth pulled out in an angry line. Seeing it was her, his face softened. "Shit, am I glad you're here. Incompetent bastards are going to fuck up this case for us."

She glanced at the retreating uniforms and then back to Fin. "What happened?"

"The first uniform on the scene had a witness. A fucking _witness._ Some hooker named Devine. So Devine says she saw the guy who dumped the body. Devine was supposedly with a John, finishes her blow, jumps out of the John's car, and sees the perp get into his car and speed away."

"Car?"

"It was dark and this chick was smacked, but she told _Officer _Bradshaw that it was a late model Honda, red or maroon, four door. Maybe an Accord."

Olivia blew out an exhausted breath. "Well, that narrows it down."

"No shit," Fin replied with a humorless laugh. "So supposedly she got a good check on this perp. But _Officer_ Bradshaw_ lost_ her before he could bring her in for a composite or any other useful info."

"What?" Olivia stomach dropped even further.

"Yeah. _Officer_ Bradshaw left Devine leaning against his cruiser while he called for backup. This hooker was cranking something fierce and needed a hit. She ditched him."

Olivia sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Great. So we lost our only witness."

"I sent this dumb shit to composite. While he gets a draw up of Devine, there are uniforms canvassing the area for any info from other working girls about this pro."

"So she called in the body?"

"She called in _something_ – they couldn't understand her. That's why only one cop was sent."

Olivia nodded silently in response. Frowning thoughtfully, she looked around the mess of people on this side of the line. "Where's Cragen?"

Fin glanced over her shoulder, pointing out Cragen with a characteristic jerk of his head.

Olivia turned and looked back into the swarm of people. Cragen was with several other people at the edge of the building. One of them Olivia recognized instantly.

"Damn."

Fin grunted from behind her. "Yeah. This is big, bad shit, Liv."

Her Captain was in deep discussion with Deputy Commissioner Vargo and two suits she could only guess were police PR. Cragen's kind eyes caught hers and he acknowledged her with a small nod. He was apparently going to be held up for awhile with Vargo and a discussion on the obvious press conference. She did not envy him.

Olivia turned back to Fin. "CSU's still working on the body?"

"They're almost done. Melinda's just finishing the initial…"

"Detectives." If on cue, Doctor Warner was peaking around the tarp curtain, her brown eyes shifting from Fin to Olivia. "I'm finished with the superficial exam and CSU has completed processing. You can come back."

Olivia followed Fin around the tarp, the vinyl effectively protecting the sight of the girl and at the same time giving them several feet of space around her corpse.

Olivia blinked, her throat suddenly going dry at the sight of the body. Yes, she was in the same age and race group as the others, her face was made-up in that same precise, professional manner, but…

"Damn, Liv. She looks like you." Fin voiced her thoughts, his knees popping as he knelt on the other side of the body next to Doctor Warner. Olivia remained standing even though her legs suddenly felt weak. She would not show it.

The girl appeared to be between 9 to 12 years of age, prepubescent like the others. She was Caucasian, with dark brown hair, and even with the milky white film that had formed over them already, her open eyes where obviously brown. The make-up was expertly applied, but very familiar. Black smudged eyeliner, brown and taupe eye shadow and mascara. Very light blush, glossy lips. Even the girl's hair mirrored Olivia's short style, with the same soft highlights.

"I noticed that as well," Doctor Warner's tone was quiet, but firm. "I thought Cragen would have mentioned it to you."

"He's, uh…he's been with the Deputy Commissioner since I showed up," Olivia replied, feeling at a loss for words. She turned to Fin.

"I didn't know, Liv. First time I've seen the body," Fin answered her unspoken question.

Trying to ignore the obvious for now, Olivia finally knelt down on the other side of the body. "So what can you tell us, Doc?"

Doctor Warner quirked an eyebrow at the turnabout, but went along with it. One of the smartest detectives Doctor Warner worked with, she trusted her colleague's actions during an investigation.

"Well, she probably didn't die here. Lividity shows that the body was moved after the initial kill, but not too long after. Outside temperature compared to her liver temp, taking into account the lividity and onset of rigor, I'd estimate she's been dead for about 8 hours."

"How did she die?"

Doctor Warner looked from Fin to Olivia. "That's the difference between this victim and the other three. The other females died from exsanguinations; they bled out from the mutilation to their genitalia. This victim hardly shows any external trauma. There are bruises on her wrists from some sort of binding, probably rope, and she may have been raped, but there are no external lacerations. Right now, I'd say she was probably poisoned or smothered. The autopsy and tox screen will give us a definite answer."

Olivia looked back down at the young girl, whose current made-up state so intimately matched hers. A sudden thought drew Olivia's gaze to the girl's hands – like her own fingernails, they were evenly filed and painted with a simple clear polish. Olivia closed her eyes, going through her memories, trying to picture the fingernails of the other three victims.

"Doc, did you take clippings of the girls' fingernails?"

Doctor Warner's eyebrow quirked again. "Two of the girls we were able to obtain clippings; the third was a nail biter. Unfortunately, we did not find any DNA. None of the victims had a chance to scratch the perpetrator."

"Do you still have them?"

"We should…"

"What are you thinking, Liv?" Fin interrupted Doctor Warner, his dark gaze narrowed in response to her sudden questioning.

"Well, the FBI has a directory of house and auto paints…do you think they keep a file on nail polish?"

Fin grunted in disbelief while Doctor Warner's curious expression changed to thoughtfulness.

"I don't know, Olivia. They do keep the different chemical breakdowns of perfumery by brand. It started back in the nineties, something with animal oils and exportation, so I suppose other cosmetics…"

"Really?" Fin's eyes widened in surprise. He then grunted, his mouth turning down. "Figures. The man's got records on everything and everybody." Catching what he just said, he rolled his eyes. "Fuck. That sounded like Munch."

Doctor Warner gave him a sideways look while Olivia chuckled.

"Well, hopefully in this case, it'll help us identify something specific used on the victim," Olivia replied. "Can you look into working with the FBI lab on those fingernail clippings after autopsy?"

"The FBI has already been calling me, Detective. I think they believe they are taking this over."

"Oh, _hell_ no."

Olivia ignored Fin, her attention still on Doctor Warner. "I wonder how they see it as their case. Unless they have information we don't."

"I think that is one of the things Captain Cragen is discussing with the Deputy Commissioner," Doctor Warner replied. "The two men with them are FBI."

Olivia grimaced and glanced over at Cragen and the other men, who were barely visible through the side of the tarp. What was worse than her initial guess of police PR? FBI. She was getting rusty – usually she could spot a Fed from miles away.

She looked back at Fin, who was staring at the face of the victim again, and then to Doctor Warner. Olivia followed the Doctor's gaze upward.

"Damn," Olivia muttered. The first few lazy flakes of snow were falling from the cloudy grey sky. She pushed to her feet, the other two following her lead and standing.

"Well, I need to get this body covered," Doctor Warner told them. "I'll be doing the autopsy today, by the way. Because this is a serial, it's been pushed to the front of the line."

Olivia nodded wordlessly. Both her and Fin stepped back and watched as the paramedics came around from the other side of the tarp with the stretcher. A peculiar feeling settled in Olivia's stomach as she watched the two young men place the small girl into a black body bag, closing the zipper over the oddly familiar face of the child.

Doctor Warner nodded at them both and followed the paramedics out from behind the tarp.

"Olivia?"

She turned back to Fin.

"He did that on purpose. Made up this vic like you. It's too much of a coincidence. Once we find out who this girl is…maybe he even cut her hair like yours..."

"Yeah." Olivia swallowed the uncomfortable lump in her throat. "It must be because I killed Clarkson. This other perp…I guess they considered themselves friends? And this is a warning?" The question was barely audible.

Fin was scowling. "A warning of what?" The implications of it went through his head. "You need protection."

She shook her head. "Fin, don't go there. If Cragen hears you…"

"…if I hear you?"

Both of them turned at the sound of their Captain's voice.

"Cap."

"Olivia, I apologize that I didn't get to speak with you before you saw the vic."

She shook her head. "It's okay."

His hand was on her shoulder. "Olivia, this changes _everything_. We're not just dealing with a serial killing rapist pedophile. We're dealing with a serial killing rapist pedophile that just chose to make up his victim to look like _you_."

A shiver went through her body, and while she was sure Fin didn't notice, her proximity to Cragen would have given it away. He was right, holy shit, _he was right_, and she felt the terror of it chill into the marrow of her bones. Her hands balled into fists, and she focused on the small sting as she dug her fingernails sharp into her palms. The pain cleared her head, steadied her, where nothing else could in this situation.

"Please don't take me off the case, Cap," she spoke, her voice soft, but thankfully even.

"I'm not, Olivia. But I'm assigning you protective detail as of now." He paused, expecting an argument. Fin was also looking intently at Olivia, waiting for the outburst. Instead she stared back at him silently, her face reflecting none of her inner turmoil.

"Fine." She glanced at where the body of the unknown girl had been, a thousand thoughts pulsing through her head. Any fear she had, she would use it to her advantage. If this bastard had done this to scare her away, to warn her off, he had just played into her hands. She would find him. There was proof, there was evidence, and she knew she could sort through it to get to this perp and stop him. There wasn't any other option.

She looked back at both men, and when she spoke, her voice was strong. "So what are we waiting for?"

Cragen nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. He glanced at Fin, and then back to Olivia.

"Okay, then. Let's get to work."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Dick Wolfe – you rock!

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. This chapter contains Huang's profile of a pedophile – it is a little graphic. This chapter is more case oriented, but Elliot and Olivia will be together again in chapter ten.

**Reviews:** Please. I know I've been slow with the updates – please forgive me.

**A/N:** I've had some work "issues" lately, which has prevented me from updating this story. For those of you who are still with me – big ole thanks!

**Chapter Nine**

The drive back to the precinct was one of the most uncomfortable in recent history. Since Fin had caught a ride to the scene with Cragen, and the captain would be delayed at the press conference, Fin now occupied the seat next to her in the cruiser. Olivia had worked numerous times with him in the past, but currently it felt awkward. The shock of the appearance of the victim was thick between them; Olivia's mind was still trying to grasp the enormity of it, while Fin probably was unsure what to even say to her.

At almost any other time, it would have amused her. She had struggled over the years to convince her male co-workers that she was no different; where they were strong and hard and invincible, so was she. But they still let it slip, the unconscious reaction to her being female, of her needing protection. But they couldn't protect her now, not from this.

Their silent, tense ride came to an end at the 16th Precinct. They headed in different directions, Olivia up to the SVU squad room and Fin towards Missing Persons. They had decided on it prior to leaving the scene that it would be the best way to proceed. Fin was going to try and find out who their victim was while Olivia pulled the master file on Clarkson and all of the details on the other three homicides. Other than Elliot, she knew this case the best, and was now the lead detective on the investigation.

The squad room was already bustling with renewed energy. Detectives and uniforms from other units, some she recognized and some she did not, were sitting or standing by every phone, fielding calls. Hopefully they were receiving usable tips instead of news inquiries, but experience told her that wouldn't be the case. Some looked up at her when she walked into the room; Olivia felt a weird sense of scrutiny, and under that, pity. By now, it was common knowledge among these fellow investigators that the victim was made to look like her. In a sense, she was the reason this little girl was dead.

Olivia acknowledged those she knew with a nod of her head, not pausing as she strode over to her desk. A uniformed officer was sitting in her chair, his thin back to her as he listened intently into the receiver of the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. She came up next to him, and he turned slightly, still talking while scrawling notes on the legal pad in front of him.

"Yes, ma'am. The FBI has not given us any indication that they're related. Please hold on for one moment, ma'am." The young officer slid the phone so the mouth piece was flat under his chin. "Detective, these are for you." He held several post-it notes out to her. Olivia took the messages with a small smile.

"Thanks," she whispered. He nodded, and then returned back to his phone conversation. Olivia flipped through the scrawls on the yellow slips of paper. Two of the messages were from Elliot, an ASAP written under his cell number. _Like she would ever forget his number._

There was a message from Doctor Warner, which was curious since it had been just over an hour since she had seen the doctor last; the autopsy and any toxicology reports wouldn't be available for a while yet.

The final message was from Debra Jensen. Olivia's stomach clenched in response; of course Mrs. Jensen would call her. No doubt the woman had seen the news regarding this homicide, this new victim killed in so similar a way to that of her own daughter Tammy. After Clarkson's death, Mrs. Jensen had probably felt a closure of some sort – her daughter's killer was dead. Only to find out now that he wasn't the only one, that someone else had helped in taking away her only daughter in such a horrendous way, that he was still out there…

Olivia's fingers tightened on the note, the yellow paper creasing under the gentle pressure. Her vision blurred for a moment as all of the fear and pain came crushing back into her mind. How could they have missed it, how could _she_ have missed it? A second perp, Clarkson's accomplice. And now another innocent girl was dead, the last moments of her incredibly short life spent in terror, in agony, and _for what_? The pleasure of madman? A lesson for her, a punishment directed _solely at her_ for taking Clarkson's life?

She blinked, forcing in a breath as her vision came back into focus. Olivia's hand slowly lowered to her side as she looked back up at the crowded squad room. The throng of people in the back of the room had thinned, exposing the main board.

Olivia set the post-it notes back on the desk. She pulled off her leather jacket, draping it on the left side of the table top away from the young officer and his temporary call station. Walking around Elliot's desk, she made her way to the back of the room.

Once again the pictures of Clarkson's victims were up on the main board, the crime scene photos interspersed between close-ups of the doll-like faces of the little girls. The huge map of the city once more had those wretched push pins indicating the crime scene locations, circles drawn in erasable pen showing a 5 mile radius in hopes of catching a pattern.

The picture of the newest victim was already up amongst the others. On paper, it was no less startling than at the scene. There was no other explanation – this girl was made up to mirror Olivia Benson.

The replication was done with such precision and perfection that their perpetrator had to be an expert. Up close, Olivia could see where he had shaded and highlighted the girl's face with fine powders, slimming down her nose and narrowing the child's round cheeks, creating cheekbones. He had effectively made her face more adult and at the same time recreated Olivia's bone-structure.

The eyebrow arch was identical to Olivia's; the sparseness of the girl's eyebrows had been filled in expertly with shadow and fine, thin strokes of matching eyeliner. Bile rose in Olivia's throat as she wondered if the perp had plucked the child's eyebrows as well to force the shape. It was as if he had sculpted a replica of Olivia, but instead of clay, he had used another living being.

Things would never be the same. She knew instinctively her hand would shake when she drew that thin line of eyeliner next to her top lashes in the morning before work. Slicking lipstick across her mouth, she would always picture a monster bent over this little girl, his sole purpose to recreate the image of the one that killed Clarkson. _Clarkson._

Her focus shifted from the picture of the latest victim to the photo pinned next to it, the mug shot of Clarkson. Her fingers twitched unconsciously at the sight of his hairy face and crooked grin, the memory of the shooting so vivid it caused her breath to catch. Staring down the barrel of his 45 Smith and Wesson, knowing Elliot was behind her, bleeding to death, but she couldn't help him…

"_You don't get it, bitch! I killed your partner. The only way I'm getting out of this is through you!"_

She hadn't second guessed herself. At that moment her mind was clear and her aim was true. Doctor Warner had later told her that Clarkson had been dead before hitting the ground, the bullet from her Glock piercing his skull right under his left eye, severing the Occipital artery and shrapnel slicing the aorta. Not that it mattered. All of her thoughts were on her partner.

"_El! Oh, God, Elliot!"_ His face had never been so pale, his eyes so dull. Her hands had shaken so much, and even now the memory of the slickness of his blood on her fingers was haunting. The wound was terrible, his chest bleeding profusely…

"_Stay awake, sweetheart. Please. El, please stay with me."_

"_Livia, damn it…Love you."_

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. This wouldn't help the situation, and she didn't have time to relive the shooting in her head.

"Olivia?"

Her eyelids fluttered open and she glanced to her right. Doctor Huang stood next to her by the board, his brown eyes shifting as his gaze moved across her face. She knew he was trying to read her and she forced herself to remain neutral.

"Hi, Doc. I didn't realize you were here."

"I just arrived. I had to retrieve my initial files on the case from the office. I also had to update an associate of mine at the FBI." He paused, and she knew he was waiting for her to comment on the FBI involvement. But she didn't take the bait, letting the silence continue.

"So how are you feeling, Olivia?" Huang asked her quietly. "Is your arm giving you any trouble?"

At the remark, she touched her left bicep gingerly, fingertips grazing across the bulge of gauze on her bare arm. The wound didn't cause her pain except when she changed the bandage in the evenings, or accidentally bumped it, so she didn't really think about it. If she had, she would have been less likely to have removed her jacket and expose the wound, and herself, to the sympathetic questioning of Doctor Huang and further pity of the detectives in the room. The last thing she needed was pity.

She forced a small smile. "It was just a scratch."

One black eyebrow quirked up at her answer, but he didn't question her further about the injury. "I've been wondering when you would stop by my office, Detective. We need to talk."

"Yeah, I know, Doc. I've been busy."

"Mmm, yes. But please don't devalue the importance of therapy, Detective. It will be easier to move forward only when you come to terms with the past," he spoke quietly. She tensed slightly as he touched her bare shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. While she liked Doctor Huang well enough, she hated being touched unless she initiated it. "We need to talk about the shooting, Olivia."

"Of course. I promise I'll come by after we get this perp, Doc." Olivia turned back to the board. "But this," she gestured to the photo array in front of them, "_this_ comes first."

Doctor Huang scanned the photos of the girls, his mouth turned down a fraction at the edges. "Yes. This wasn't entirely unexpected, but extremely unfortunate. The crimes indicated two separate perpetrators, but Andrew Clarkson's psychosis grouped him in a class of bi-polar perpetrators that can create a crime scene reflecting different personalities. He and his accomplice in effect fooled us using Clarkson's own mental instability and his refusal to mention his partner in these crimes."

Olivia glanced over to him thoughtfully. "So what we know of Clarkson, what does that say of the unknown perp? If we pull what we know of Clarkson, how he would have reacted to the victims, what is there left? The make-up, the age of the girls…"

"Liv! Doc!"

Both turned to see Fin emerge from the crowded doorway of the squad room and walk hurriedly over to them. Fin grabbed a free push pin from the side of the board and tacked a new photo up next to the picture of the latest victim. He stood back from the board on Olivia's left, a half smile on his face.

"Just got this from MP."

"Damn, Fin, that was light speed," Liv said, impressed by her fellow detective.

"Yeah, well, this one was at the top of the pile. Shelly Schuler, eleven years old. Her mother reported her missing three days ago. Good kid, no evidence that she was a runaway or a non-custodial kidnapping. I spoke with the lead on her case, Detective Renick, and he said a witness came forward two days ago that claims he saw it happen. Some delivery man."

Fin paused to catch his breath. "Get this, though. The delivery man says he saw the perp grab her from the sidewalk and stuff her into the back of a maroon, four door Accord."

"Oh, _damn_." Olivia swore, her voice low. She tore her gaze from Fin to look at the new picture tacked to the board.

It looked like a class photo, the girl staring straight ahead with a smile on her face. The child looked no older than her eleven years, baby fat still softening her jaw and cheeks, freckles smattered across her nose. Her brown eyes were clear, sparkling to match her toothy grin, and Olivia imagined the photographer had said some silly joke to help her smile for the picture.

Her dark hair was long, her bangs cut in a straight line across her forehead. Just like her hair, her eyebrows were different from the post-mortem picture; they were sparse, with a small arch. This girl had gone through a complete transformation at the hands of their perp, but enough of her was still visible that they knew she was one and the same.

"He's fucking good, isn't he? Jesus, he fucking took this kid and made her into you," Fin muttered next to her. She glanced at him; his arms were across his chest and he was still staring at the photograph, a deep scowl on his face.

Olivia looked back at the picture. "Maybe that's how we'll catch him. Trap him by his own expertise."

"Detectives. Doctor Huang."

The three of them turned in response to Captain Cragen's voice. Olivia was surprised she hadn't notice him arrive, but then the squad room was heavy with activity.

Cragen's eyes appeared tired, and even with his polite smile, he looked worn out. Aside from the case, Olivia knew he was probably being drilled from both the commissioner and the FBI. The FBI wanted this case, the commissioner wanted NYPD to keep it, but solve it overnight, and Cragen was in the middle. Olivia wondered how much they knew of her intricate ties with the perp and the victim; she was surprised that even with the protective detail, she was still on the case. She was sure Cragen had more to do with that then he had let on.

"I want you to meet detectives Barek and Logan from Major Case. Because of the extent of media coverage, SVU will be working with Major Case on this. This will also help us keep the case at the NYPD level longer," Cragen explained, watching as the four detectives shook hands, Olivia and Fin returning the introductions.

"Cap, the FBI can't just take this. There's no evidence that the crime crossed state lines."

"Not yet. But the Feds have a serious hard-on for this one, folks. These are serial killings involving the rape and torture of young white girls. The initial perp has been removed from the picture, but the crimes continue. There is another perp out there, and he has a thing for making up the faces of his victims post mortem. Now his sick fascination has turned to one of our own. It's only a matter of time before this information leaks out to the public."

Olivia knew Doctor Huang was looking at her and kept her face neutral as she continued to watch Cragen.

"Cap, do you think it's in the best interest to keep Detective Benson on this case?"

Olivia bristled at Logan's comment. He had served as a detective under Cragen for many years, and she knew his history with her captain gave him the comfort to voice the thought out loud. And she automatically hated him for it.

"Logan, Detective Benson has protective detail. Moreover, she knows this case better than anyone else. If we are to get this bastard quickly, we need her background and experience. It would hinder the investigation to remove her at this point."

Logan looked back over at Olivia; she stared back at him silently, her head tilted ever so slightly. Fin snorted from where he was still standing next to her.

"Don't worry, Detective _Major Case_," Fin drawled out the title. "Liv's got enough balls to keep you _both_ safe."

Logan's eyes narrowed and Olivia felt a sudden burst of laughter burn at the back of her throat, threatening to bubble over. Sometimes they didn't see eye to eye, but Fin always had her back.

"People," Cragen sighed. "Tensions are high, but we need to focus." He redirected his attention to Doctor Huang. "Doctor, I believe you have an updated profile based on this new information. Would you care to share it with the detectives and me?"

"Certainly." Doctor Huang walked over to the closest desk, retrieving his briefcase. He flipped it open, pulling out the top file. He thumbed through the pages, making his way back over to the board and the small gathering of detectives.

"As always, I want to start by saying this is a working profile. I've created it based on FBI psychology assessment protocol. It's hypothetical, in a way, an extremely educated guess based on years of case study."

Cragen nodded, having heard the spiel before. "Go ahead, Doc."

"Your perp is a white male. Judging by the experience and calculation put into the crime, he is probably in his late 30's to mid 40's. He has a high IQ. He is probably soft spoken, he may even have a stutter."

"A stutter?" Olivia questioned.

"I've seen this in the past. If not a stutter, he isn't one to volunteer speech. He will be soft spoken." Doctor Huang turned to another page in the file.

"Because of his choice of victim and accomplice, he is probably a smaller man, either thin or short. He will have had little success with past relationships. In this way, though, he is not a classic pedophile. The fact that he makes up his victims to resemble adult women is an indication of his desire for mature females. But because of his size, his past experience, and the desire of his accomplice, he chose pre-pubescent females as victims.

"Although the fact that the make-up was applied post-mortem is curious. If he needed to make them appear more adult like before the rape, then this would be a false indicator. But then he did not engage in the crimes alone, and per the autopsy reports, only one source of DNA was found – Clarkson's. That being said, it is possible that this unknown perp masturbated at the scene of the crime over the post-mortem corpse and took the evidence with him."

"Sick fuck," Fin hissed under his breath.

"I can't establish that last part without the most recent autopsy report," Doctor Huang continued. "This unknown perpetrator may be acting differently since Clarkson's death. Understand that when criminals successfully engage in unlawful activities together, especially one so heinous, it is because both of them have found that together they derive more satisfaction from the crime.

"Clarkson's pleasure probably was increased by having this unknown perpetrator watch him rape and kill his victims. As for the unknown perp…," Doctor Huang paused, thinking for a moment. "He probably partnered with Clarkson less for pleasure and more for necessity. In this situation, one criminal will always be the "lead". Even though the unknown perpetrator has a higher IQ and is more methodical than Clarkson, he probably depended on him more. He _needed_ him. He probably feels very lost, very confused and upset without his partner."

Olivia's jaw clenched on the word partner. _Lost without his partner._ As if reading her mind, Doctor Huang turned his attention to her.

"Clarkson meant quite a lot to this man. When you killed him, his partner was taken away from him, and in response, their joint pleasure came to a sudden close," Doctor Huang spoke, his voice lower this time. "It is only natural that he had to turn his attention somewhere. Now his focus is on you."

"What kind of danger do you think Olivia's in, Doc?" Cragen asked, voicing the question before Olivia could change the course of the profile.

"He is methodical. To imitate you, to replicate your face and hair so intimately on this victim, even his IQ and obvious experience wouldn't give him such precision. I would gather to say he has been watching your movements, Olivia."

Her skin felt itchy, almost like little ants were crawling up her bare arms. She suddenly craved the heavy leather of her jacket, but she stayed riveted to the spot, clenching her fingernails into her moist palms.

"Well," she paused, swallowing the annoying lump in her throat, "that will give us another way bring him out in the open. If he's so busy watching me, he's bound to trip up."

More than anything, she was glad Elliot wasn't here. If he heard this, there was no way he would have let her continue. They would have fought, maybe even yelled at each other. Especially now, when there was no way she would let him push her to drop this case.

"Olivia, this wasn't just to scare you. He probably didn't achieve anywhere close to the same sexual excitement with this victim as with the others. Partly because he is now without Clarkson, but mostly because his focus was pulled from the actual victim; he was thinking of you while in the process of the crime. He tried to create you, to posses you, and in the end, destroy you. Just like he feels you have done to him."

There was an uneasy quiet. She kept her attention on Doctor Huang even as she felt the stare of the others. How quickly it had all changed. The shooting, Elliot, the victims, and now this. Her head was pounding with all of it, her lungs constricted as raw emotion tightened like bony fingers into her flesh.

"So how do we find this bastard?" Fin asked, finally breaking the agonizing silence.

Doctor Huang looked from Olivia to Fin. "With his kind of skill, I would inquire within professions that deal with make-up or paint. I'd say he was a make-up artist, but with his shy, awkward demeanor, he probably isn't very successful. It's possible he is also a cross-dresser. Keep that in mind.

"This man, when you find him, he's going to appear harmless. He is probably the one that lured the girls in when he and Clarkson worked together for that fact alone. But he's extremely dangerous. He's probably thought through several situations involving his capture. More than anything, he is methodical. Be extremely careful."

Cragen nodded. "Thank you, Doc."

"Anytime, Captain Cragen." Doctor Huang glanced at his watch. "I apologize, but I must head back to FBI headquarters."

"I'm sure they are requesting a copy of the same profile," Cragen sighed.

Doctor Huang gave him a small smile. "I am a doctor, first and foremost, Captain. My main loyalty is to the profession."

"Of course," Cragen replied, patting him on the back. "Didn't mean to imply anything different. It's just the politics of this case are at the boiling point."

"It's unfortunate that we have to all work that way…"

"I totally agree," Cragen answered.

"Detectives," Doctor Huang bid his goodbyes. He shook the hands of Barek and Logan, knew better than to touch Fin, and mouthed a quick "call me" to Olivia before leaving.

Cragen watched the retreating back of Doctor Huang disappear into the crowd before turning back to the group of detectives.

"Okay, listen up. This is how it's going to be. Fin and Barek, I want you to re-interview Andrew Clarkson's mother. For obvious reasons, please try and keep Benson's name out of discussion. I want you to see if you can get her to relay any information on any friends he's been spending time with lately. Keep it neutral. The woman is volatile, but she may be one of our best leads."

He paused, glancing up to the board. "I heard that Missing Persons identified the girl. Is this true?"

"Yes, Cap," Fin answered, his voice low. Olivia smirked. It was obvious the he wasn't thrilled to be partnered with the small, pretty brunette from the Major Case Squad.

"Barek and Fin, before interviewing Clarkson's mother, meet up with the dead girl's parents. Missing Persons knows this case is ours now, but keep them tight on the situation."

As lead detective, Olivia knew that should have been her job. But the last thing the victim's parents needed to see was the detective whose face the perp decided to construct their little girl to look like. The thought struck her deep.

"Benson and Logan, I want you to question Clarkson's cell-mate and any prison buddies from his past several stays at Rikers. After that, I need you to make another trip to Clarkson's apartment. The property hasn't been released from the state yet, so you should be able to do a sweep for evidence. Call CSU if necessary."

He looked over the four detectives, and Olivia noticed that his eyes looked a little less tired; the intensity of situation had sparked his second wind.

"Listen, folks. We're rushing against time with this bastard, and every move we make is being caught by the media and the public, and they're a damn unforgiving bunch. Make sure everything you do is done with purpose, understand?"

They all nodded wordlessly in response, like some sort of mute army going into battle. He gave them a smile this time.

"Good. Call me with anything you find. I have several more meetings with the commissioner, but when I'm not there, I'll be here at the precinct. Several more units are heading over; we're going to re-canvas all the prior crime scenes."

Olivia watched Cragen turn and retreat towards his office, a mixture of anticipation and dread stewing in her stomach.

"Let's get this done, then," Detective Barek suggested, her voice firm and even. She was tiny standing next to Fin, but the authoritative air around her suggested she wouldn't take shit from him. Unwittingly, Olivia liked the other woman already.

"As long as you don't mention Dick Cheney, we're cool," Fin replied.

"I agree. No politics."

"Great." Fin glanced at Olivia. "Stay safe."

"You do the same," Olivia smiled back. Barek gave Logan an unreadable look, and both her and Fin walked out of the squad room.

"So is your protective detail going to follow us during the investigation?"

Olivia looked up at Logan. "Well, at least back-up won't be far away," she answered sweetly. Cragen had mentioned Detective Logan several times over the years; from the way he spoke about the man, she had imagined an honest, if some what rough around the edges cop. This guy was an asshole.

"I see this is the beginnings of a beautiful partnership," Logan smirked.

"I have a partner already, a damn good one, thanks," Olivia replied, her tone sharp. She turned away to walk back to her desk and he grabbed her arm, his strong fingers curling against her skin just under the bandage.

"Benson…"

She turned back to him. "Please let go." It came out softly and she cursed her own vulnerability. This man had no right to touch her.

"Listen, we got off on the wrong foot. I…," he paused, and she knew instinctively that he wasn't one for small talk. "I apologize. I'm sorry about your partner. Trust me when I say I know how it feels."

Olivia remembered only bits and pieces of what Cragen had mentioned of Logan's prior partners. The only one she really knew anything about was Briscoe. They had worked a couple of cases together over the years. The news of his death had saddened her, and it still pained her that she had missed his funeral several years back.

"I heard about Briscoe. We had worked together in the past. He was a wonderful man."

Something dark flittered across Logan's eyes before he gave her a quick nod of his head. His gaze lowered to where his hand was still circled around her arm. She knew without him saying a word he was thinking about her gun injury and the history behind it. His thumb brushed against the gauze and her arm tingled uncomfortably from the movement.

"Logan…"

"Can we start this over, Benson?" He asked quietly. Logan released her arm and offered her his hand. "I'm Detective Logan, Major Case Squad."

"Detective Benson, Special Victims Unit. Nice to meet you, Detective." She gave him an amused smile and shook his hand. "Let me just get my jacket, and we can drive to Rikers."

"You ready to do this, Benson?"

"More than ever. Let's get this bastard."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Dick Wolfe – you rock!

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. As promised, this is an E/O chapter. Still very case centric, though.

**Reviews:** Please. All of you that have left feedback are giving me the incentive to continue this piece (slow as it may be).

**A/N:** Someone asked how many more chapters I have to go. I'm a little over half done. I hopefully will be able to update faster, as I'd hate for this to take longer than it already has. But there are a few crazy plot twists left. And that promise I made in chapter six? I kept it, if only one chapter shy…

**Chapter Ten**

**  
**

By the time he had reached the doorway of the squad room, his lung was burning. He had taken the steps slowly, had focused the entire time on his breathing, but still the pain stabbing persistently in his side had him gasping. Elliot leaned against the doorframe, pausing, trying to will the pain away and at the same time to get his breathing under control. Cragen had allowed him back, on desk duty only, but if he saw him like this, Elliot knew he wouldn't hesitate to send him home.

It had only been two days since the discovery of the latest victim, but it felt like weeks. He had been detailed on the investigation by almost hourly calls from all of the SVU detectives, save one. Of course, he knew Olivia was the lead now, and she was incredibly busy, but that wasn't the only reason for their lack of communication. Between her and the awful twist in what _had_ been a closed case, he pushed himself relentlessly towards recovery. Still, the doctors had been hesitant to discharge him.

Elliot wasn't fooled that the only reason he was let out late last night was his link to this case. It was all over the news now, discussed on the subway and around the water cooler; it had been a while since a serial killer, especially one so gruesome, had hit the city. So his health came in second. The job always came first.

The pain had lulled back into a dull ache. Knowing by now this was the best it would get, he pushed off the doorframe and made his way into the squad room.

As it was only five thirty in the morning, the area was mostly dark. Desk lamps provided the only light, illuminating the call stations of the four uniformed officers, casting eerie shadows on the tile floor underneath them. Two plain-clothes detectives sat at the coffee table, playing cards by the light of the squad's only floor lamp. Elliot nodded at one of the men he recognized, and the detective gave him a half wave, still immersed in their game.

Elliot walked over to his desk, thankful that at this moment it was currently unoccupied. He turned on his desk light, revealing the uncluttered surface. No messages, but considering his hospital stay, he wasn't surprised. There was a legal pad with call notes written in a foreign hand. Elliot scanned the first few pages, but he already knew he wouldn't find anything. If any significant leads had been received, Cragen would have told him.

He took off his coat and folded it across the back of his chair. As the squad room was already warm on this cold October morning, he also took off his suit jacket. In an unconscious move of possession, Elliot set it on the back of Olivia's empty chair. Curious now, he leaned forward, turning on her desk lamp.

If her desk was any indication of her life the past two days, he knew she was probably exhausted. Call notes were stacked next to her phone. Several file folders were spread across the desk. A rather large hard cover book lay open, several passages highlighted; closer inspection revealed it was something on the science and psychology of profiling. A half empty coffee cup sat next to that, and of course, there was a legal pad, covered in text.

An odd warmth spread through him at the sight of the notes in her strong, sure handwriting. He picked up the legal pad, scanning through her interpretations on the case. Olivia wouldn't write anything personal, and he already knew most of the details of the case, including the profile, but he was hoping to garnish a little of her thought process. How was she going to work this one? With the leads they had, with the profile, how was she attempting to bring this bastard down? Something half way down the second page caught his attention.

_Perp's relation w/ Clarkson far exceeds intimacy. I haven't taken away his lover, but his partner. His best friend._

Her words pulled at him. A decade, two bullets, almost losing his life, and he knew now. A best friend, a partner, was worth more than any lover. It was _her_…

Olivia's next words chilled him.

_His hatred for me is intense. I don't know – the visual of it. He could have been there that day. He could have seen me shoot Clarkson. I know he's been following me ever since. It's like his own crusade. To possess…me? To destroy me, as Doc put it. _

_Maybe the only way to bring him down is to bring him in. If he wants me so badly, then let him try. I never liked the whole "bait" card, but maybe that's the one that'll win us the game._

He dropped the legal pad back on her desk, his hands curling instinctively into fists. The hell if he would let her use herself as bait. It was bad enough that Cragen had kept her on the case, even with the protective detail. If it had been up to Elliot, he would have squirreled her away in protective custody, hidden her in another state if necessary, to keep her safe. But she was visible, out on the front line, giving this bastard another chance to hurt her. Or kill again to get back at her…

Elliot looked up from Olivia's desk to the back of the squad room. The area by Cragen's office was dark, only the weak cast light giving any indication of photos on the main board. He walked around Olivia's desk and made his way to the back of the room.

He stopped by the left wall first, hitting just one switch on lighting board. Only the last bank of fluorescents turned on, but it was enough to flood the back of the room in harsh light. A few of the uniforms glanced up at him, blinking a little at the sudden brightness. He ignored them, his full attention on the board.

Most of the pictures were from the prior homicides, the victims and crime scenes those that had been haunting Elliot for the past month. It was one picture in particular that pulled him in now, an image he knew would haunt him more than the others and long past this case.

The image of the latest victim was all over the news, which he had seen while in the hospital. It was Shelly Schuler's yearbook photo, provided to the media by her grieving parents. Other than being a brown-eyed brunette, the child and his partner weren't really similar in appearance. That was one of the things he had wondered about when Cragen had told him the details of the case. But the crime scene picture of the victim…

Elliot could feel the rush of blood in his ears, his throat constricting painfully on the sudden lump of emotion. It was his worst nightmare, looking back at him. The face of his dead partner.

"Jesus," he muttered on a harsh breath, forcing air into his suddenly throbbing lung. Her hair, her eyes, that mouth – it was a near perfect replication of Olivia. All of his ideas, all of his thoughts of the case that he had developed the past two days were blown away. This changed _everything_.

Their perp was more psychotic, more talented, than Elliot thought possible. This wasn't just a game to him. He wanted to possess her. _To destroy her_, Olivia had written. Of course, she was right. She knew what he was only starting to realize – this man would not stop until he had her.

For an insane moment, Elliot thought about kidnapping his own partner. Steal her away in the middle of the night and drive across the country until they hit California. The thought would have made him laugh if he hadn't seriously debated it for a second. Of course, it could never happen. He couldn't leave his children, and Olivia would probably knock his lights out if he ever came close to her with that intent. And there was the job. Neither of them could leave the job.

"Stabler? What are you doing here?"

Elliot turned away from the board, giving Munch a half smile.

"Mornin' to you too," he greeted the other detective, his voice coming out raspy. Elliot cleared his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt as Munch walked up next to him by the board.

"Not that I'm not relieved to see you." Munch took a bite out of the cinnamon roll he was holding, only partially finishing his mouthful before continuing the conversation. "I'm just surprised the HMO nazis of this capitalist health care regime let you out so early."

"I guess they were tired of all of my conspiracy theories," Elliot answered with a smirk. Munch's eyebrows quirked up and Elliot laughed. "There was nothing more they could charge me for, Munch. Not even an aspirin." He paused, watching as the older man finished off his pastry. "I guess Cragen didn't have time to tell everyone I'd be back."

"Not I. But then, I'm the only detective _not _working this case," Munch replied, glancing up to the board. "I have a rotation of three while you guys work this out." He looked back at Elliot. "Suppose you're on a desk?"

"Yeah. Though it looks worse than it is," he lied effortlessly, touching the small bandage on his temple.

"I doubt that's the one that's giving you trouble," Munch quipped. "So, did you meet Olivia's detail?"

"What?"

"Schnoebelen and Worth from Vice." Munch gestured at the two detectives playing cards. "Worth said something about a case you both worked…"

"Yeah," Elliot muttered, distracted. Being as Olivia's detail was in the squad room, it could only mean one thing. "Liv's been sleeping in the crib?"

For a second, Munch's actually looked depressed. "She says it's because she's so busy. Which fits appearances, since she lives and breathes this case more than anyone else." Munch frowned. "But I think it's a safety issue. I mean, can anyone blame her? The vic, Huang's profile…"

"We need to talk." Elliot didn't explain himself further and Munch didn't ask. He just nodded, adjusting his glasses.

"I'll be working on one of my many, _many_ cases. But let me know if need anything," Munch offered. He left Elliot with that thought, walking over to his desk to sit down next to one of the uniforms.

Elliot looked from Munch up to the crib. He was comforted, and at the same time saddened, that she had spent the past two nights in the station. It would be foolish for the perp to try and get her here. But then she shouldn't have to be sleeping on a state-issued bed, spending her only time away from this hellish case still within the confines of the job.

He walked over to the stairs, slowing his pace as he mentally prepared himself. Somewhat for the feat of another set of stairs, but mostly for seeing his partner again. The last time…

God, the memories were sweet. Her shaving his face, the nervous tremble of her strong hands, the smell of her soap and skin. The slow burn of desire was more intense than he had ever felt. At that moment he wouldn't have minded dying in her arms, it was such bliss. And the taste…

He could still taste her, the warm, soft skin of her throat. The way she had cried out at the touch; her voice was deep and soft, sex and love, all wrapped up in that moment. If her phone hadn't rung, he had no idea what he would have done, what he would have confessed to her.

But there was the job.

Elliot started up the stairs, keeping his breathing even as his lung protested the movement. He paused half way, not looking back to see if any of the officers were staring at him. He didn't want to show weakness, but he needed the moment to rest. After a couple seconds, he continued the short climb, coming to the open doorway of the crib.

The only light came from behind him, streaming in weakly in a thin shaft. Olivia was asleep in the bed across from the doorway, on her back, a thin sheet drawn up to her shoulders.

He stood in the open doorway, just staring at her. God, she was beautiful. His angel. She was so fierce, so independent, but delicate. He had never met another woman who had faced so many obstacles, so much tragedy, and still had a heart so generous.

He loved her.

That terrified him more than anything else ever had. He didn't know when it had happened exactly. When she had become more than just a partner. And it frightened him. Because the emotion could cause him more pain than anything else. Because he didn't know what he would do if he lost her.

He argued with himself while standing in the doorway. If he were smart, he would turn around now and go back down into the squad room. Wait for her to wake and come down when she was ready; they could pretend like nothing had changed and talk about the case.

But he couldn't force himself to turn around. Instead he found himself walking into the dark crib, heading over to her bed.

Halfway across the room, the floor creaked underfoot. Olivia had moved so fast he would have been impressed except for the gun pointed at him.

Her eyes were bright in the half-light, her arm trembling, but her aim true. With grim satisfaction, he noticed it was the Glock. Of all her guns, that was his favorite.

"El? What are you doing here?" Her voice came out breathy.

"Just admiring the service end of your piece. You?"

She lowered the gun, still visibly shaking. She had been deep asleep, not even dreaming as far as she could remember, and the sound splintered into her. It had been instant, the visual, and the nightmare of a man with no face, holding her down. And she couldn't do anything to stop him.

But Elliot was in front of her. In the crib. In dress slacks, a shirt and tie. His head was still bandaged, but…

"Do you always sleep with a gun under your pillow, Liv?"

She blinked, as if it was the oddest question he could ask at the moment. "No."

Olivia moved to a sitting position, the sheet falling around her waist. She leaned over, placing the gun on the bedside table.

He took in her newly exposed state. She was wearing a white tank top, the material thin enough he could see the outline of her brasserie. Olivia turned back at him and his gaze shifted to her face.

"What are you doing here?" She repeated the question.

"Working."

"Elliot…"

"The hospital released me. I'm here to help with the case."

"Do you think that's wise?" She asked, concern lacing her words.

He laughed, low and humorless. "You're really asking _me_ that? Jesus Christ, Liv. There's a mad man out there that just made up our latest vic to look like you." He shook his head. "You shouldn't be on this case. You know that, I know that, and Cragen sure as hell knows that."

Olivia pushed the sheet behind her, standing up in front of him in her tank top and sweats. She was still trembling, but this time it was from anger.

"I have _every_ right to be on this case, Stabler. To run and hide would just give into this bastard's wishes. I'm not going to let him push me. I'm not scared…"

"Damn it, Olivia," Elliot cut her off, his voice low. "Don't you understand? You should be fucking _terrified_."

They both stared at each other for what seemed like minutes. Olivia broke the visual contact first, closing her eyes. She sighed, looking back at him, her gaze catching on his tie.

"You're tie's crooked."

One of his eyebrows rose at the turnabout of conversation. "My chest still burns a bit if I raise my arm above a certain point. But it hasn't affected my knitting skills."

She gave him a smile for the attempt at humor. Smile fading, her fingers reached out hesitantly for his tie. He watched her lean fingers work at the silk, at the same time focusing to keep his breathing even from her movements.

"How much do you know about the past two days, El?"

"Enough to be dangerous. I've heard Logan and Barek from Major Case are on board. Fin told me that he and Barek encountered an extremely hostile mama Clarkson. But Fin doesn't think she knows much anyways," Elliot repeated. He and Fin had spoken by cell over a dozen times the past two days. As the second detective on the case, the man's information was invaluable, though Elliot did have to listen to his diatribe on Barek. As much complaining as he did, Elliot suspected Fin had a thing for the woman.

"Fin also says there was a strike out on the plates from the initial kidnapping, though the delivery man was able to provide a hazy composite sketch."

Olivia nodded. "We still haven't been able to find the pro who saw the dump. If she wasn't completely drugged up at the time, she might be able to give us a better composite."

She finished correcting the knot, smoothing one hand flat against his tie.

"I hear you've been partnered with Logan."

"Yes."

"He doesn't call me either."

Olivia laughed softly. "Not much to tell, unfortunately. The cellmate was a bust. We reviewed the visitor records from Rikers, and we've been able to clear all of them except three. Two men and a woman. Logan and I will be working on that today, along with another search of Clarkson's apartment."

"Cragen told me about Huang's profile and Warner's report."

Olivia sighed. Neither was encouraging. Huang's profile was shocking, and the autopsy and toxicology reports had only confirmed what Olivia had guessed. The child was suffocated with something soft, like a pillow. No fingerprints, fibers, or indication of sexual assault. Doctor Warner even remarked that it was one of the cleanest scenes in recent memory.

"What do you think about the medallion?" Elliot asked quietly.

The NYFD medallion. Other than the clothing and make-up, it was the only material object found on the victim, in this instance, inside the victim.

The urgent message Olivia had received from Doctor Warner only an hour after the morning spent at the crime scene was regarding the medallion. Prior to the actual autopsy, the doctor had done another superficial examination, mostly to determine any sexual assault. That is when she had found the medallion inside the victim.

At first, Olivia hadn't understood the significance of it. Clarkson had nothing to do with the fire department, and it was unlikely, from Huang's profile, that the unknown perp would be associated with the NYFD either. She had gone through Clarkson's information, trying to find any sort of link, with either his known relatives, or his victims.

And then suddenly, it had occurred to her. The relevance of the medallion wasn't to the perp or the victim, but it was to her.

Elliot was watching her intently, reading into the expressions cross her face as she remembered.

"You know something." His hand slid gently against her jaw, tilting her face up so she was looking at him again. "Liv, tell me."

"I haven't…told anyone." It was the truth. She wasn't sure what to do with this information yet.

"Liv, tell me," his voice was soft but leading. It comforted her, even as she knew he had used it before in the interrogation room.

"Munch told you…about the bar. The man I had…_issues_ with, he was a fire fighter. He had a chain around his neck. I didn't see the medallion, but it matches the chain."

Elliot felt his chest tighten. The bastard had been following her, had sat in that bar with her, watching her.

"The guy from the bar…"

"I spoke with him yesterday. He's alive. I didn't get into specifics, but he said he'd come in today. At that time, if he's missing his, and if he can match it up with the one we have in evidence…"

"Liv."

"I've been hoping they're not related. Oh God, if only they aren't related. Because if they are," she sucked in a breath, pushing down the burning need to cry. "He was sitting there, watching me. And the medallion he stole ended up in the dead girl the next morning as a taunt for _me_. I can't…"

Her eyes were shining now with unshed tears. "Don't you understand, El? I _am_ terrified. But what can I do? I can't hide. All I know how to do is this. And the only way to stop him is to find him. I have to."

He pulled her close to him, cradling her face against his neck as he rubbed her back gently to comfort her. Her breathing was shaky against his throat and he knew she was struggling not to cry.

"Stay with me," he whispered into her hair. "Pack some things today and stay with me."

She shifted out of the embrace, looking up at him. "I can't, El."

"I promise, my apartment's better than the crib," he countered, flashing his characteristic smirk. "You can have my bed and I'll sleep on the kids bunks in the other room."

"I…I'll be staying at my own apartment tonight, Elliot."

He studied her face, trying to read her expression again. She was trying to close him out, push him away. He knew instinctively it was because of their last encounter.

Elliot's face lowered and her eyes widened a little at the movement. He brushed his left cheek against her right, his breath warm against her ear.

"Don't you trust me?" He whispered. She trembled against him and he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her so close.

"Of…of course," she answered, her voice catching. "It's not that."

"Tell me then, Liv. Talk to me."

Damn it if he could do this to her. She felt unstable, unfocused and shivery suddenly. All of this was making her crazy, making her lose her mind, and there was nothing that she wanted more than to have this man.

His calloused fingers were stroking her bare arm in feather light touches, causing goose bumps to rise.

"I just…" She couldn't think. She should tell him to stop, but her body denied her brain any control over the situation.

"Let me keep you safe, Liv," his voice caressed the words. Her body arched against him, and he groaned helplessly against her throat. His hand on her back slid further down along her spine. He had found the hem of her top, and his fingers now traced lazy circles against the bare skin of her lower back.

"Elliot," she moaned, reeling at the simple touch. This was her partner, her _partner!_ They had to stop…

He was kissing her jaw, his mouth working a slow path to hers.

"Please," she pleaded, her hips rocking against his, her body burning for just a chance to kiss this man.

The sound of someone ascending the staircase rather loudly tore them apart. Elliot sat down heavily on the bed; his lung ached from the activity while his lower body throbbed. Olivia had wrapped the sheet around her, shivering a little as if cold.

"Olivia?"

Elliot looked up to find Detective Logan standing in the doorway of the crib. He held two cups of coffee, a questioning look on his face as he took in the scene.

"Morning, Logan," Olivia replied, her voice still husky with emotion. She hoped that the seasoned detective would mistake the tone for her just getting up instead of desire. Olivia walked over to him, clutching the blanket close.

"I brought you coffee. Better than the sludge here," he smiled, handing her one of the tall Starbucks cups. She took the offering with thanks, holding it close with one hand, the sheet tight at her chest with the other.

Elliot watched Logan with interest; Olivia in her morning state obviously distracted the detective. The fact that the other man was already calling his partner by her first name irked him.

Feeling recovered enough to stand, Elliot pushed to his feet and walked over to the doorway. He stuck out his hand. "Hey, Logan."

"Stabler, long time," Logan shook his hand, grinning at the younger man. "Still drinking Boulevard?"

"When it's in stock," Elliot smirked.

Olivia realized the two had met before. In a bar, no doubt.

"I'm surprised to see you here. Told you had been shot in the chest, and the head, from the looks of it."

"You heard right. I was just released last night. On desk, but here. This case is primetime."

"Hell, I hear it. The mayor even has his chips in this one. Front page, CNN. Fucking global by noon."

Olivia watched them exchange cop banter in the doorway, and then turned around back into the dark crib. She picked up her Glock from the table, clicked the safety on and slipped it into her waistband. Tossing the sheet back on the bed, she reached underneath the frame and pulled out her gym bag. She swung it over her shoulder and headed towards the door.

"Liv?"

"I'm going to shower. In twenty minutes, I'll be back. If either of you want to catch this bastard, you know where to find me."

She walked between them, jogging down the stairs and out the door of the squad room.

"Damn. That woman is one hell of a cop," Logan whistled low, his gaze on the empty doorway. He turned back to Elliot. "Don't ever let her go."

Elliot looked over at Logan. After a long moment, he smiled at the older detective. Then, without a word, he turned around and headed back down the stairs.

She was one hell of a cop. And she was his partner. And more than anything else, he never wanted to let her go.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Dick Wolfe – you rock!

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. This is another E/O chapter, but more case centric. For all of you in need of some E/O action, that will be chapter 12.

**Reviews:** Please. All of you that have left feedback are giving me the incentive to continue this piece (slow as it may be).

**A/N:** I am a turtle with updates. Deepest apologies.

**Chapter Eleven****  
**

As always, trials and interrogations were both more interesting in person than on transcript. The text in front of her was starting to blur, and Olivia rubbed her eyes gently, trying to refocus. Whether it was just a lack of sleep, the dry material she was reading, or a bit of both, she felt disconnected from her current task.

It was almost noon, and she was back in the 16th squad room, sitting at her desk, a mass of folders, pictures, and transcripts in front of her. Since Ron supposedly would be showing up soon, she had stayed behind when Logan had left an hour ago, assigning herself the duty of reviewing all of the past statements taken from Clarkson. She knew the exhausting job would most likely not turn up anything that they didn't already know, but she held out hope for just a piece to help track down his accomplice.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair and stretching. While kneading the ache in her lower back, she glanced around the busy squad room. Her gaze caught on her partner.

Elliot was at Fin's desk, talking to Worth, Schnoebelen, and a plainclothes officer she didn't recognize. As if sensing her staring at him, Elliot turned a fraction in his chair, returning her complicated look. She faltered a little at the directness in his ice blue eyes, biting her lip unconsciously. The movement drew his gaze down to her mouth, and she felt her face become warm. Olivia jerked her attention back to the transcript.

They had mostly avoided each other since this morning. Olivia had been out with Logan for the majority of the time, following a lead called in early regarding a blog and a beauty school, which turned out to be another dead end. Once back at the squad, she had yet to take a break; if not researching, she was making calls out, working through the leads they had yet to cover.

"Hungry?"

Olivia looked up at the sound of Logan's deep voice. He was standing behind her holding a paper bag, a half smile on his face.

Her mouth quirked. "You brought me lunch?"

"I didn't see you eat breakfast, and you'd probably work right through lunch if I hadn't come back." Logan walked up to her desk, sitting down on the edge of the table top next to her.

"Light reading?" He smirked, moving the transcript to the side, ignoring her weak protest. He set the paper bag down in front of her. "It won't hurt to let it go for a few minutes. Eat up."

"What is this?" Olivia asked, uncurling the top of the bag and hesitantly reaching in.

"Turkey club. And don't fucking tell me you're a vegetarian or you're watching your figure, or some other bullshit like that." He rubbed the back of his neck, watching her unfold the foil around the sandwich.

"Thank you, Logan. It's perfect." It was. She was starving, but had pushed the empty feeling in her gut out of her mind to focus on the case. But the three tiered turkey club on wheat in front of her was a Godsend. She picked up one half, biting into the sandwich with an appreciative murmur.

"So who exactly is this guy you are waiting for?" Logan asked her, watching her eat, not moving from his position next to her on the desk.

She chewed slowly, thinking of safe description of Ron and their encounter. Elliot was still the only one that knew her hypothesis on the medallion.

"It's a long story. And probably means nothing. I'm just covering the bases."

"Olivia."

She looked up at him, her hand paused in mid-air with the sandwich.

"I know Stabler's back, but we're still partners on this. Don't fuck with me. Cragen doesn't brag about your performance because you spend precious time following up on nothing."

Olivia smiled. "Cragen brags about me?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "Off topic."

"But I like this one better," Olivia countered, taking another bite of the sandwich. She finished chewing, glancing back up at the older detective. She watched him look across the room, his gaze settling on Elliot and the small group of detectives. There was an odd smile on Logan's face.

"Fine. I'm not through with this discussion, but if you want to change topics…" he trailed off, turning back to her. "What's with you and Stabler?"

Olivia nearly choked on the small bite. She picked up the napkin lying next to the foil on the desk, wiping her mouth. "What are you talking about, Logan?"

"Come off it, Olivia. He's been scowling at me the entire time I've been sitting here next to you."

She was smoothing the napkin across her fingertips, the sandwich forgotten. "Perhaps he's a little…protective of me." Olivia laughed softly. "Stereotypes of female cops with male partners are still alive and well."

"Hmm. I have a female partner, Olivia, and while I do feel protective of her, I don't look like I want to jump a man when he stands too close."

The flash of anger in her brown eyes was vivid. It was meant as a warning, a non-verbal deterrent for him to discontinue further discussion of her partner. Instead of backing off, he rested one hand on the other side of her sandwich, leaning in close to her. She sat still, refusing to pull away.

"Right now, Stabler's giving me the look of death," Logan smiled darkly, his voice hushed. "I bet if I kissed you right now, he'd kill me."

"No."

"Oh?"

"I'd beat him to it," Olivia replied, her voice flat. He blinked, her quick reply unexpected. His smile then pulled out into a grin, flashing teeth. Logan laughed, moving back to his prior position.

"Okay, I get it. But I know that I'm right…" Logan's smile faded and Olivia looked up, and then turned in her chair. A uniformed officer was walking towards them with a tall, well-built Italian man with a rather sullen look on his attractive face. Ron.

"Detectives, this is Ron D'Annuzio. He's here to see Detective Benson."

Logan moved forward before Olivia had the chance, holding out his hand to the younger man. "Ron, I'm Detective Logan."

"You her partner?"

"Yes," Logan answered brusquely, beating Olivia to it. She spared him a scowl, and looked back at Ron.

"Thanks for coming in, Ron."

"This isn't about the other night, is it? I mean, I thought that was all done with. I ain't touched a woman since then, honest."

Logan quirked an eyebrow up at Olivia, but she ignored him. "I believe you. But I would like to talk with you. Not here, though. Follow me."

He nodded absently. She paused at her desk, picking up the largest file folder before heading towards the interrogation room. Ron followed her, darting quick glances around the busy squad room as he walked.

Elliot had been watching her since Logan had arrived. He was annoyed when he realized the other detective had brought Olivia lunch, and couldn't help but be distracted whenever he heard her laugh at something Logan said. When the older man had leaned down close to his partner, Elliot had felt a rage he hadn't experienced in years. For a moment he thought that Logan was going to kiss Olivia, right in the middle of the busy squad room.

The idea that he might have seriously hurt Logan if he had followed through scared Elliot. Protectiveness was one thing, but Elliot recognized it clearly as jealousy. And he knew he had no right to feel this way. For as much as he wanted it, she wasn't his.

Elliot's hands were still clenched into fists as he had watched the short exchange between Olivia, Logan, and the tall man that had just entered the squad room. When Olivia and the man had turned and started walking past him to the big interrogation room, Elliot realized he was the firefighter she had discussed.

Unwillingly, a smile touched his lips. _So this is the fucker that attacked her and she saw fit to fling him across a barroom floor? Big guy. _

Elliot left the small group of cops, walking quietly to the interrogation room. He opened the door slowly, thankful to see she was already in the main room with Ron. He closed the door behind him, standing in front of the two-way mirror to watch the interview.

Elliot turned at the sound of the door; Logan opened it soundlessly, striding into the room and closing the door behind him. He gave Elliot a smile, walking up next to him to stand in front of the glass.

"So what's the story with this guy?"

"Someone she beat up in a bar," Elliot answered, his tone low, his gaze never leaving the scene in the interrogation room.

Logan snorted. "And how the fuck does that relate to the perp?"

Elliot didn't answer. Logan stared at him a couple of seconds, and then turned to watch the interview.

"Have a seat, Ron." Olivia gestured to one of the chairs around the plain wood table. He looked at the chair, then back at her, frowning.

"Is this gonna take long? I'd rather stand."

"I'd prefer you sit," Olivia answered. His lips drew out in a thin line. He huffed, a child-like sound that reminded her once again how young he was, and plopped down in one of the chairs. She took a seat across from him, setting the file down on the table top in front of her.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, leaning back in the chair. His eyes narrowed, his mouth turning down slightly.

"Still sore." He paused, crossing his arms across his chest. "You know, I talked to a buddy of mine, and he says I could sue. That it was police harassment."

"Mmm. Did you mention you made the first move, Ron? That you assaulted a police officer? A _woman_ police officer?"

He scowled. "I just touched you…"

"And somehow your _touch_ ripped out all the stitches on my bullet wound?"

Ron's scowl disappeared. "You were shot?"

"Just last week. Want to see?" Olivia asked with dark humor.

He was staring at her, his lips parted slightly. "Wait. This ain't about the bar fight, is it?"

_Such a clever fellow._ "No."

"I didn't shoot nobody."

Olivia sighed, deciding it was best to ignore that last statement. "Ron, what did you do that night, after we sent you home in the cab?"

His scowl reappeared. "I went home."

"And you stayed there?"

"Yeah."

"All night?"

The fingers on his left hand jerked a little against his right bicep where his arms were still crossed. "Yeah."

"I think you're a horrible liar." She pushed out of the chair, the sharp movement and screech of wood causing him to flinch. His eyes were wide, his gaze following her as she walked around the table. She stood behind him where he couldn't see her, placing one hand firmly on his shoulder, an obvious move to keep him from standing.

Elliot watched with rapt attention through the mirror. She was an expert in the room, a star player at such a dangerous game. The tension was thick, and he waited for her to continue, nearly forgetting that Logan was standing next to him.

"I gave you a clean slate, Ron." Her voice lowered. "I could have brought you in, arrested you. You could have even lost your job with the FDNY."

"You said…"

"But I didn't. So why do find it necessary to lie to me now?" Olivia questioned. She glanced down at his neck, the glint of a gold chain catching her attention. Her hand left his shoulder, her fingertips touching the back of his neck.

He jerked a little in surprise, but stayed seated, looking straight ahead. Olivia smiled softly, knowing he was scared of her. She tugged gently at the tiny bit of strand that was visible under the collar of his black t-shirt, exposing more of the chain against his neck.

"You won't arrest me?" He almost pleaded with her.

"Why would I, Ron?"

"But if…uh, if I came back…"

"Tell me," she encouraged him. Her lips quirked a little as she remembered this morning, and Elliot saying those exact words, with nearly the same tone she used now.

And it was just as successful.

"I took a cab back to the bar," the confession came out a rush. He paused, obviously waiting for her to admonish him. When she stayed quiet, he slowly continued.

"I don't know why I went back. Maybe to see if you were still there," he grunted. Ron made a move as if he wanted to turn, but Olivia pressed her hands into his shoulders again. She knew she had more power if he couldn't see her face while relating the night's events.

"Go on."

"They kicked me out." He snorted. "Fucking bartender. Didn't care for that shit hole anyways."

"Where did you go then?" She asked softly, looking up from the top of his head to the brick wall in front of them. Olivia waited, but he didn't answer her.

She glanced back down at him, once again staring at the chain. "You were followed…"

"She grabbed my arm while I was leaving."

_She?_

"I don't know why I hadn't seen her there before. Fucking hot little blond chick. Chatted me up, laying it on thick. Hell, I know the ladies dig me, but it was almost excessive."

Olivia blinked, her mind racing with the information. "You took her home with you?"

"We got drinks in another bar. I, uh, I guess I passed my limit."

"Why?" She questioned, her voice a soft lull as her fingertips pressed into his shoulders gently.

"I, uh, don't remember much after the bar. I'm pretty sure we would have fucked, she was all digging on it, but…" His voice died as he uncrossed his arms, rubbing his palms against his jeans.

"Do you remember passing out?"

"No."

Olivia bit her lip. Ron had been drugged. This unknown blond woman had slipped something in his drink.

Olivia looked back down at the exposed chain. Her hand moved from his shoulder again, her fingertips sliding against the chain.

"Where did you wake up?"

"My apartment. Alone. Like she was never there or nothing. But my fucking medal was gone. I'm sure that bitch stole it."

Olivia swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "Your medal?"

"Yeah. My fucking FDNY medal. Size of a quarter, usually keep it around my neck. It's been missing since that night. I'm sure it was her that swiped it."

Olivia closed her eyes, fighting back the sudden rush of emotion. She was right. Good God, she was _right_. The _bastard._

She removed her hands from his shoulders and walked back around to her side of the desk. Flipping the folder open, she pulled out the top photo and set it face up in front of him.

"Is that it?"

She watched his face as he stared at the photo. It was one of several CSU had taken of the medallion; this one the object was flat on a plain white surface, face up, a ruler on the right side for documentation purposes.

He touched the edge of the photo, staring at it for several minutes before looking up at her.

"Where did you get this?"

"So it is yours?"

"The scratch on the side…I, uh…aw, fuck, it's a stupid story. But yeah, it's mine." He paused, eying her warily. "Can I have it back?"

Though he had no idea of where it had been, and she had no intentions of telling him, the request made her stomach lurch. "No." Her lips pursed; she knew he needed some sort of explanation. "It's part of an ongoing investigation."

"Oh." He glanced back at the photo, his dark eyebrows low. "This isn't just because she stole it, is it? I mean, this is something bigger, right?"

She sighed, the sound bringing his head up. "I don't want you to worry about that, okay? But I will need you to talk with our sketch artist."

"About the blonde?"

"About the blonde," Olivia repeated. Ron stood and she walked back over to him, pulling a card out of her pants pocket and handing it to him.

"I want you to call me if you remember anything else, all right? Anytime. I mean it."

He nodded wordlessly, looking down at her information with an odd smile. "This kinda makes us even then, hey?"

She forced a small laugh. "Close."

"You said a clean slate, right?"

"I did."

"So, you wanna get a drink or something after shift?"

Her laugh this time was real. "Not that clean, Ron."

Together they turned at the sound of the door opening. Elliot walked in, followed by Logan. Both men looked grim.

"Ron, if you want to come with me, I'll take you to composite," Logan spoke low, making a small gesture to Ron to follow him.

Ron glanced at Olivia, and then turned back to Logan. Logan stood against the door, letting Ron exit the room first. The look Logan gave Olivia lacked all of the humor from earlier. She knew he was pissed she had kept him in the dark.

"We'll talk," Logan told her, closing the door to the interrogation room behind him.

Olivia sat back against the table, closing her eyes, literally drained from the interview. She heard Elliot move, sensed him in front of her, but she stayed still.

"Liv…"

"This is crazy," her hushed voice came out hoarse, and she bit her lip, fighting the urge to cry. She dug her nails into the wood of the tabletop as she battled the tears.

She almost flinched when he touched her, his palm rough against her cheek.

Elliot stared at her face, her closed eyes, the long lashes dusting against her flushed cheeks. His gaze drifted down to her mouth, and his hand moved instinctively, his thumb brushing against her full lower lip.

Her eyes fluttered open, her lips parting in surprise under the touch. His attention was on her mouth, his blue eyes dark with lust.

It was crazy, how fast her emotions had moved from fear, to anger, and now…this. It was almost violent, leaving her shivering with reaction.

"You're staying with me tonight," he whispered roughly.

"El, I'm not going…"

"Shhh," he murmured. Elliot's hand moved away from her mouth, and he leaned back a bit, aware of their surroundings. "I don't feel like an arguing with you on this, Liv. There's no other option."

"But the two of us…"

"I'll be good," his voice was still low, the silky tone causing warmth to spread in her belly.

"It's not you I'm worried about," she replied darkly.

They both turned towards the door, Logan striding in again.

"Back so soon?" Elliot grimaced at the older detective. Logan gave him a humorless smile.

"I met Fin on the way out. He took Ron to composite." Logan looked back at Olivia. "And we have an apartment to go through with CSU. Time to be my _partner_ again, Olivia."

Elliot frowned at the terminology as Olivia picked up the file folder and walked over to Logan. She gave Elliot one last look before both of them left the interrogation room.

Elliot walked over to the table in the empty room, sitting down, his elbows on the tabletop, fingers crossed. He rested his chin on his fingers, closing his eyes, deep in thought in the room that contained so many of his memories.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Dick Wolfe – you rock!

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. This chapter will be more case centric. I know I said in Chapter 11 that this next chapter was going to be E/O, but after starting on it, I realized that would have robbed/rushed the plot. And I'm trying to keep balance in the story. Don't worry, the next chapter is pretty much written.

**Reviews:** Please. All of you that have left feedback are giving me the incentive to continue this piece (slow as it may be). Hepburn – thanks for the email push again!

**  
A/N:** Deepest apologies on the delay. Life just keeps getting in the way!

**  
Chapter Twelve****  
**

The smell of the apartment was nauseating. It was a mixture of crime scene chemicals, cleaning products, rotting garbage and mold. Olivia had nearly gagged when Logan had unbolted the door after removing the CSU tape. Both of them had stood in the doorway for over a minute, adjusting to the odor in silence. She had been around enough death that this couldn't give her body a reason to purge lunch, but she still needed a moment to let the stench dull a little.

"Let me open a window," Logan muttered, the tone in his voice altered as he tried to breathe through his mouth.

Olivia watched him cross the cramped living room, circling around the sagging blue sofa to get to the window. He jerked hard against the metal braces, sliding the old frame up high in one push. A soft smile touched her lips as Logan stuck his head out, breathing in deeply.

She looked away from him to take in the apartment. It was small; she had known from the CSU report that it was a one-bedroom in the Bronx. The living room space was shared with the kitchen; the only element separating them was the change of tile to carpet.

The kitchen was to her right from the doorway. It was old, but efficient looking, plain white cabinets with brass handles probably dating to the late 50s. A single basin metal sink occupied the middle of the brown Formica counter, still filled with crusty dishes. There was a small electric stove, and a more modern looking refrigerator taking up the rest of the space, both appliances dulled from white to beige, much like the cabinets, with the assistance of a lifetime of smoking tenants.

A trashcan lay overturned on the worn blue tiles. Several flies buzzed around the pile of rotted food, which knowing the area, had probably been worked through by rats as well.

Olivia sighed. It wasn't like anyone had been inside here in weeks. When Clarkson had first been arrested, a warrant was issued for his apartment. As CSU had discovered blood and hair from two of the girls in the bedroom, the apartment and the possessions contained therein were now property of the state while the investigation moved forward.

Of course, when Clarkson died, and the file closed, the property should have been released back to the landlord, and the possessions to the next of kin. But as always, the state had been slow with the paperwork. Before they even started the paperwork, the file had been reopened, and the apartment and possessions were once again legally under state control. This had to be one of only a few times she had been pleased that the property office was such a bureaucratic mess.

Olivia's gaze shifted from the kitchen to the living room. There was a brown card table with two folding chairs in the far right corner, an overflowing ashtray and several empty beer bottles littering the top. A small bookshelf was to the left of the one window, crowded with several books that Olivia couldn't identify from her vantage point. In the middle of the living room sat the lone blue sofa, the center sagging after years of use. A small television sat on a milk crate against the left wall, facing the sofa. Two closed doors were located on either side of the television, and Olivia knew one went to the bathroom, and the other to the bedroom.

"So? What do you think?"

Olivia glanced back over to Logan. He was leaning back against the window frame facing her, his lips parted slightly as he continued to breathe through his mouth.

They hadn't really discussed how to go about investigating the apartment. Since the interrogation of Ron earlier that morning, Logan had been cold to her. Understandably so, Olivia relented. She just had trust issues, and this whole investigation had her reeling. Part of her wanted to reject the atrocities being committed now in response to her actions with Clarkson. Almost as if denying it, such as with the medallion, she could push the guilt into the back of her mind. But Olivia knew the action was dangerous.

She had to think clearly, had to be rational, even if the feelings associated with it tore into her gut with a stabbing, nauseating pain.

"Here, take these." Olivia dug into her pocket and pulled out several latex gloves. She had taken them from her desk drawer prior to leaving the squad, thinking ahead.

Logan walked over, taking a pair of gloves with a quick nod of his head. Olivia circled back to the door, pushing it shut to prevent prying eyes of Clarkson's neighbors. As Fin and Barek had already interviewed the occupants of this three-story building, some of them were undoubtedly curious to the additional police activity and might stop by to watch or ask questions.

When Olivia turned back to Logan, he already had both gloves on, giving her an unidentifiable look. She quirked one eyebrow up at his expression, expertly sliding her fingers into the powdery gloves.

"Do you have a preference?" Olivia questioned, motioning to the two closed doors.

"Hmm, guess I'll choose what's behind door number one there, _Bob_," Logan deadpanned. Olivia smirked at his impersonation.

"Right. I'll take the other. See you out here?"

"Yep," Logan answered, briskly turning from her to walk over to the first doorway. He pushed the door open, and at the sight of the bed, Olivia turned and headed to the room she knew now to be the bathroom.

She pushed open the door warily, right hand loose against the butt of her gun. Walking into the small bathroom, she grunted in disgust; she would do better armed with a can of bleach. She flicked on the light switch, flooding the windowless area with harsh fluorescent brightness.

The small bathroom was just big enough for the little sink, toilet and claw footed tub with a clear, if not grimy, shower curtain. The walls were the same off-white color as the kitchen cabinets had been, the slate colored tiles in here missing in places. There was a small cupboard under the sink and a slim medicine cabinet above, the mirror broken in two places. Rust discolored the area around the faucet of the sink and Olivia knew the condition of the toilet and bathtub wouldn't be much better.

She crouched down in front of the sink, opening the cabinet doors. Cleaning supplies, which forced a laugh out of her. Olivia pulled out each one, opening them and checking the smell. Everything was as it was labeled.

She closed the cabinet and pushed up on her heels to stand when she heard a faint noise behind her. As she turned, a rat raced along the worn tiles in front of her, scurrying under the tub. She screamed.

"Olivia! Are you okay?" Logan was at the door, gun out, concern on his face before she had a moment to collect herself.

"Yes. Fine. There was just a rat…"

"A rat?" His eyebrows were pulled together as he stared at her. Suddenly, he smiled, and the smile became a grin, exposing teeth as he laughed. "Jesus Christ! A _rat_?"

"I'm not scared of them, alright? I just wasn't expecting it, it startled me."

"You weren't expecting it? We're in the fucking Bronx. Squatters eat the little fuckers like they're chicken in Memphis." His laughter died down but the grin remained. "Want to go stand on a chair in the kitchen while I kill it for you?"

Anger surged through her at the suggestion. "Don't you have a room to be searching?"

"Fine. But the offer remains. Just…scream." He chuckled as he walked out the door.

She sighed, turning back to the sink. Pushing the thought of the rat lurking under the bathtub out of her mind, she pulled open the medicine cabinet.

The array of medications gave her pause; there were at least 20 orange prescription bottles, if not more. Olivia went through the task of checking each one, making sure that they were all for Clarkson and that the pills inside the bottles matched

After that, she moved to the toilet, pulling off the lid, even though she knew he wouldn't keep anything in the tank. Proving herself right, she covered it again and then reached inside her trench for her flashlight.

Olivia looked around the toilet and cabinet with the light, finding only grime and more grime. Pausing for only a second, she knelt down again, shining the flashlight under the bathtub.

The rat's beady eyes twinkled in the beam. "Hello, little beast," Olivia whispered, moving the flashlight to check on the rest of the tub's underbelly. Other than the rat, some trash he had acquired and decades of grime, there was nothing else under the bathtub.

After doing the cursory check of the inside of the bathtub, she turned and walked back into the living room, turning off the switch as she did.

Logan was already out in the living room, pulling a couch cushion up. He caught Olivia's gaze and shook his head wordlessly. _Nothing in the bedroom._

She walked over to the small bookcase. Ignoring the fingerprinting dust that was still covering it, she pulled out the first book. Noting with black humor it was _History of the Assault Rifle_, she held it by the spine, flipping the pages in hopes that something might fall out.

"What do we expect to find here, Olivia?"

Olivia glanced up from the book to find Logan looking down at the couch in disgust to where he had unveiled a multitude of trash that had been smashed under the weight of apartment's former occupant.

"Something, anything, that may have to do with the unknown perp…"

"You mean the unknown woman."

"_Perp_, Logan. Huang's profile…"

Logan grunted. "I know they get lucky sometimes, but profiling's still just an educated guess. And we have more information than ever on her now."

This was true. The composite from Ron of the blond woman that had stolen his medallion matched the woman in the videotape from Rikers. She, along with two men that had visited Clarkson, were still unidentified since they had all used fake information in the prison visitor logs. Neither of the men had matched the other composite, the one by the deliveryman.

"What about the composite from the delivery man, Logan, the one that saw the perp abduct Shelly Schuler? He saw a male, and the sketch, though vague, I'll admit, is definitely masculine. And Devine..."

"The pro? Both you and I know the witness testimony of prostitutes is unreliable. Especially ones that were cracked out at the time."

"But to misidentify a woman as a man? No, she would definitely know the difference in her line of work."

Logan's gaze turned thoughtful. "So what then? What does it all mean?"

Olivia stared back at him, the thought disturbing her. _That there could be two unknown perps. Two more predators out on the street. _She left it unsaid, because she knew by the look on his face he was thinking the same thing.

"I think it means we better find something here," Olivia murmured.

They both went back to searching, Logan sifting through the trash on the couch, Olivia flipping through all of the books, hoping Clarkson had tucked something like a letter or photo between one of the pages.

Half an hour had passed and Olivia was now searching through the kitchen, still having found nothing of value to the investigation. She was standing on one of the folding chairs, going through the upper cabinets while Logan stood next to her, pulling out drawers and examining the content.

"…so it was nice seeing Munch again," Logan continued. They had been talking on and off while searching the apartment, both careful to keep the subject matter light. "I swear, he looked the same 12 years ago that he does today."

"You've worked with Munch before?"

"Yeah, Briscoe and I partnered with Munch and Lewis back in Baltimore on a case that crossed state lines. How the FBI didn't snatch that one from us, I still can't figure out."

"Stabler and I have been forced to hand over a case in the past to the Feds. Always frustrating," Olivia replied, closing the cabinet door. She sighed, stepping off the chair and folding it back up.

"So you'll be staying with Stabler tonight?"

The question was so unexpected it shocked her. Olivia scowled at him. "You were eavesdropping?"

"I couldn't help it, since my _partner_ had kept crucial case information hidden from me, I thought I might catch other information on the case she was keeping out too."

Olivia had the grace to blush. "Listen, Logan, I apologize for that. This case…it's complicated. But you still don't have the…"

"I think Stabler's right, Olivia. You should stay with him."

Olivia blinked. "Why?" She frowned. "You don't think I can protect myself?" Though she encountered the stereotype of being a weaker cop because of her gender frequently, she thought Logan was above it.

"I didn't say that. Hell, I _wouldn't _say that. I think you're an excellent detective if the past several days are anything to go by, and fuck if I'd ever want to be on the receiving end of your piece. I just think you should stay with him."

Realization dawned on her. The bastard was trying to get them together. She shook her head at him, turning away to walk over to the refrigerator. "Stay out of it."

"Fine," he smirked, watching her. "You sure you want to open that door?"

She looked up from where her hand was on the refrigerator door handle. "Do you know how many things I've found in refrigerators over the years?"

"Ten pound bag of pot rolled in foil," Logan answered.

"Semi-automatic in pieces in the ice box," Olivia shot back.

"Five bags of blood from a perp who thought he was some sort of homicidal vampire," Logan grinned.

"A human eye in a jar of sun-dried tomatoes."

Logan grimaced. "Damn. You win."

Olivia smiled, turning back to the refrigerator and bracing herself as she opened the door.

The smell was bad, but not as horrid as she was expecting. She leaned over, inspecting the contents. For being such a large man, Clarkson didn't appear to eat much at home. There were several boxes of take-out and a gallon of milk that had probably been past its prime last month, but more than anything were bottles of beer.

Olivia sifted through the condiments, noting the regulars. She moved down to open the crisper trays, her gaze catching on the refrigerator grate.

When the door had been closed, she didn't see it, but now that it was open, she saw clearly the corner of a rather thick piece of paper sticking less than half an inch out of the dirty grate.

Closing the door, she knelt down, fumbling inside her trench coat for her Swiss Army knife.

"What is it?"

Ignoring Logan, she flipped open the Phillips head screwdriver and made quick work of loosening the screws and pulling off the grate. Setting it aside, she reached in carefully among the metal mesh to pull out the paper. No, _envelope._

She stood, Logan in front of her, but her attention was on the envelope as she turned it over and pulled out the contents.

Polaroid pictures. Six of them. The color drained from her face as she looked at the images, a fine tremor in her hands. Pain gouged thick in her stomach, bile rising in her throat at the fear in the eyes of Erin Lilly. The girl was tied to a bed, in various states of undress, her mouth gagged. In three, she was by herself, eyes pleading with the camera. The other three, Clarkson was with her.

"Good God," Olivia choked out, too affected to stop Logan from taking the pictures, too overwhelmed to warn him.

She watched him silently as looked at the photographs, his face scrunching up in disgust, paling, as sweat started to bead on his forehead. He turned from her, tossing the pictures on the counter and leaning his head on the cabinet, hands braced on either side. Logan was mumbling something, but she was afraid to question him, knowing he was on the edge of vomiting.

"Logan, maybe you should sit down," she said weakly. He shook his head, forehead still pressed against the wood.

"Fucking monster. Fucking _monster._ How could he?" Logan spit out, his voice breaking.

Olivia leaned against the counter to his left, watching as he took in deep breaths of the filthy air, trying to calm his stomach. Logan dropped his left arm, turning his head so he could look at her.

She let him stare silently at her for several minutes, fighting the urge to talk. His color was returning, and she knew he had fought the battle to react like a normal human being to the images.

"How, Olivia?" He asked her softly. "How can you do this job, look at shit like this, and not die inside?"

She bit her lip, looking away. "Because I do. Seeing this, my God, it kills me." Olivia turned back to him. "And that's why. Because I want to take these bastards off the street. Because if I do this job, maybe I'll save the girl that would have been next."

Olivia touched his shoulder as his breathing continued to slow down, her gaze unintentionally catching on the photos that were scattered on the counter next to them.

She blinked, ignoring the subject matter, the room coming into focus.

"Logan!" She picked up the photo, staring hard, trying to make out details from the Polaroid. "Look at this!"

"Please, don't make me look at that shit again."

"Block them out. Look at the left. Is this Clarkson's room?"

Curious, Logan took the photograph from her. "Yeah, bed's the same. Fuck! The mirror! It's on the dresser…"

"Well, it caught part of our perp!"

Both stared at the photograph, at the image of the person behind the flash of the camera. Most of the face was impossible to see because of the light, but the small fragment of nude torso was obviously male.

"Let's get these to the lab. Maybe they can clear up his face a bit," Olivia said, her voice rushed as she gathered the pictures and tucked them back into the envelope. She watched as Logan ripped off his gloves, his face still worn looking, but he was now smiling.

"We're going to catch these bastards, Olivia. Both of them."


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Dick Wolfe – you rock!

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Oh, and there's a bit of smut in this one. And if I had added names to the chapters, this one would have been, "Lover, You Should Have Come Over", in honor of Jeff Buckley, and my E/O fanaticism.

**Reviews:** Please. All of you that have left feedback are giving me the incentive to continue this piece (slow as it may be).

**A/N:** I know, insane! Here I go months, and 2 chapters in as many days! Chapter 14 is half way done, so maybe I'm getting better. Maybe.

**Chapter Thirteen**

It had been nearly nine that night before Olivia had made it back to her apartment. After leaving Clarkson's, she and Logan headed straight to the lab, Logan driving while Olivia talked to Cragen on her cell phone. At the NYC crime lab, both waited patiently as a photography tech enhanced the one photo with the partial image of the perp in the mirror. Though the tech hadn't been able to recover all of the man's face, she did provide them with the majority of his jaw and mouth and neck. Saving it into the computer, the tech then sent the electronic file through the system to composite, where they could combine the sketch from the eyewitness and the partial photo to create a new representation of the perp.

They drove back to the precinct to meet up with Fin and Barek, all of them gathering with Cragen in the main interrogation room to discuss the case so far. It had been a productive day, and Olivia was pleased to find out that Fin and Barek had uncovered some of their own leads, including a neighbor who had seen the blond woman leaving Clarkson's apartment.

Elliot was missing from the meeting, and Olivia waited until they were through before inquiring about his absence with Cragen. Her captain informed her that her partner had been in Vice most of the day, working with the detectives in that unit to get more information and possible locate Devine. She was glad that Elliot still had an integral part of this case even though he was restrained by the "desk duty" order. Olivia was also happy that she managed to avoid a confrontation with him. A third night in the crib wasn't her plan, but she sure as hell didn't want to spend the night with Elliot. With the way things were recently, they were tiptoeing around each other, not speaking about the obvious, or feeling each other up. It would have made her laugh out loud if it wasn't so terrifying.

So when seven o'clock came, and Logan asked her if she wanted to pick up a bite before she headed home, she took him up on the offer. Once she was able to accept his wicked humor and his penchant for colorful language, he was actually entertaining. They ended up exchanging cop stories over burgers and fries at a diner in the West Village.

Olivia was exhausted by the time she finally made it through her front door. She tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter and pulled off her trench coat, draping it over the back of her couch. Heading towards the hallway of her one-bedroom apartment, she paused. She turned back, going to the line of windows in her living room, parting the blinds to look down at the street.

As expected, her detail sat in an unmarked patrol car to watch her for the night. She knew they had been following her around all day, keeping their distance, but never to far away. It was easy to forget they were there, and Olivia was a bit put off by the notion.

Fresh and more alert now from her shower, she sat on her comfortable beige sofa, dressed in a plain white tank-top and a pair of blue cotton boxer shorts, her feet bare. In front of her, spread out on the newspaper covered coffee table, sat all of her guns, her gun cleaning kit to the right. Humming along softly to Nina Simone who was singing from the stereo system to Olivia's left, she took a sip of the Boulevard beer she had purchased on the way home, surveying the five guns that made up her collection. Really, it would be better if she were the kind of woman to buy expensive shoes when upset.

But that wasn't her. _This_ was.

Her trusty Glock, her favorite back up the Beretta M9, her new Heckler & Koch P2000, the Kimber Warrior .45 she had purchased after Alex had left, and her old Smith & Wesson .38 she had bought after graduating from the academy, all of them she treasured in one way or another. Sure, to others they were instruments of death, but to her they symbolized moments in her life, and more importantly, reminded her of the job and her dedication towards it.

She took another sip of beer, deciding that Elliot had great taste after all. It was another detail about her partner that she would relish, but keep pushed back in her thoughts like so many others throughout their nearly decade long acquaintance. He was her partner; she couldn't expect or want more, or it would put them both in jeopardy. That, and what kind of relationship could they have? Both were hardened sex crimes detectives, one the tumultuous product of an alcoholic and a rapist, forever to be haunted by her demons, the other a divorced father of four, driven by his faith in God and justice.

_It's too bad you couldn't fall for someone like Logan_, she thought, picking up the Beretta M9. Olivia grimaced, then smiled hearing Maureen's voice in her head, _oh, ewwie._

Olivia released the magazine from the gun, setting it aside. Pulling back the slide, she checked to make sure the barrel was empty. It wouldn't help matters to shoot herself in the process.

Clicking the slide release, she pulled the slide assembly completely off the frame and placed it next to the magazine, then slipped out the spring in the same manner. Grabbing the wire brush from her kit, she used the instrument to clean the heavy muck from inside the barrel, which thankfully was light since she took such good care of her weapons.

Setting the brush aside, she reached for the cleaning rod and the box of patches. She attached one patch to the end of the rod, placing it aside for a moment as she opened the bottle of solvent.

The smell of the solvent permeated the air like some sort of exotic cop perfume. Olivia picked back up the rod and dabbed the patch with the liquid before going to the task of cleaning out the barrel, careful to move the rod in the same direction the bullet would travel.

After cleaning the gun thoroughly, she moved onto the slide. Satisfied with the job, she started on the process of reassembling the Beretta M9, pausing only to drop a smidge of gun oil on the spring and exposed frame of the slide.

Olivia slid the loaded magazine back on the gun, flicking the safety on before setting it back down on the newspaper. She was reaching for the Glock to repeat the process when there was a knock on the door.

Olivia's hand curled around the loaded Glock and she pushed off of the couch, making her way cautiously to the door.

She looked out the peephole, frowning at the same time her heart started beating faster. _Elliot._ Olivia was surprised he had made it past the front door of the building and the on again, off again doorman, but then she remembered years back she had given him her extra key. That, and his badge _did_ grant him favors.

Olivia opened the door, hardening her expression instinctively, one hand on her hip and the other loose on the Glock. She took in his appearance as he stood there silently. He had obviously been home, as he was now wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a black leather jacket in place of his usual trench coat. A duffle bag was slung over his shoulder and her stomach unwillingly clenched at the implication.

"What are you doing here, El? It's nearly eleven."

"Staying the night."

Her eyebrows rose at the boldness of the statement. "El…"

"I told you back at the squad, Liv, that I don't want you to be alone, especially at night."

"The detail…"

"Do you really want to argue about this where all your neighbors can hear?" Elliot cut her off, jerking his head to indicate the hallway behind him.

Olivia sighed, pulling the door open all the way and letting him pass. As she locked the door, he dropped his duffle bag and stretched, trying to ease the pain in his lung after climbing the stairs up to her apartment. Elliot had never realized until this injury exactly how many stairs he had to climb each day on the job.

He turned back to her where she was leaning against her front door, staring at him. Elliot's gaze traveled up the length of his partner's body, from surprisingly soft looking feet, her lean legs, a pair of blue boxer shorts that hugged her hips, and another one of those thin white tanks tops of hers that he was really starting to adore. Her hair still looked damp from a shower, her face clean of make-up, which made her look younger somehow, and interestingly vulnerable.

Olivia felt her body react to his assessment and wondered if he was even aware of the predatory look he was giving her. She would have crossed her arms over her chest, hide the blatant response of her body, but that would have been awkward while holding the Glock, and not to mention childish.

"Why don't you have a seat, El?" Olivia's voice came out rough and she cleared her throat. "You want something to drink?"

"Water's fine," Elliot replied. She gave him a quick nod and turned to walk into her kitchen with heightened awareness that he was probably looking at her backside as she retreated.

Elliot turned to walk into the living room, first noticing the soft strains of music coming from the stereo, a tune he couldn't identify, sung by a rather alto woman in French. He paused at the side of the sofa, her coffee table in full view now.

A slow burn threaded through his chest, similar to the pain in his lung, but caused by something else altogether. Elliot's blue gaze shifted from the guns, the professional cleaning kit, and then rested on the Boulevard beer. He tried to think of another woman who would spend the evening cleaning her guns, not just one but five, while drinking beer, his favorite beer out of all of them, and do it while listening to some chick sing in French.

God, he loved this woman.

His breath caught as he realized there was no turning back from this point. He couldn't pretend anymore that she was just a partner to him. But he was terrified of moving forward, scared to lose her altogether. _To lose himself._

For years it had been building, for years he had slowly, maddeningly, been falling in love with Olivia. Sitting across that desk from her, day in and day out, sharing nearly every emotion with her. He had somehow slipped, somehow lost his noteworthy iron clad control and let her into his heart.

He took off his coat and sat down on the couch, realizing with a start that his legs were trembling. Elliot scowled, hating the vulnerability. He had to get it together before she came back.

Olivia was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, trying to control her own breathing. It was crazy. Elliot had been in her apartment a thousand times; they had watched movies together here, eaten take-out, hung out like partners and best friends. He had even stayed overnight a couple of times while going through his divorce, insisting that her couch was actually comfortable. So why was this different?

The shooting had changed everything. The moment she had killed Clarkson, the walls had been shattered, and everything that had been held back was now rushing forward, whether it was welcome or not.

Olivia shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and opened her rather sparse refrigerator to get a bottled water. She made her way back into the living room.

Elliot was holding the Heckler & Koch, appraising the new addition to her collection. He looked up when she entered the room, placing the gun back down. "Since when do you drink Boulevard?"

"Want one? I bought a four pack."

"I can't. Pain meds."

Olivia gave him a soft smile as she set the Glock on the coffee table. _Of course._ He made it so easy, save the small bandage on his temple, to forget that he was still nursing a major injury.

She handed him water and picked up her beer, sitting down on the large sofa next to him, leaning back at an angle so she was still facing him.

"How is your lung doing? This day must have been hell."

"It only really gives me pain if I exert myself. While Cragen has me on a desk, I don't get a chance," Elliot replied, flashing her his characteristic grin.

"And your ribs?"

"Docs gave me a rib belt, which is a pain in the ass, but keeps everything nice and stiff as the fractures heal."

Olivia glanced down at his shirt, first noticing the faint line of thick wrapping around his torso. "I can't believe they released you so soon."

Elliot was glad once again that he hadn't told her he had practically begged the doctors to release him when they did. She wasn't the only one dedicated to the job.

"Seriously, Liv, I'm fine. How's your arm?" He asked, glancing down to her bare bicep. She had since stopped using the white gauze and was now covering the wound with a large band-aid.

"I forget it's there most of the time, except when I have to change the bandage to keep it lubricated. If I bump into something…that's a different story."

Olivia took a sip of beer, conscious that he was watching her.

"So you decided tonight was going to be the perfect night to clean your guns, huh?" Elliot asked, the tone in his voice light.

"It's been awhile. And with a madman, or madwoman, or both after me, there's no other time like the present to make sure my weapons are all in perfect firing condition."

Her words killed the levity of situation, but both of them were used to the darkness of reality. Elliot leaned forward to rest his bottle on the coffee table, and then sat back against the cushions, turning his torso so he faced her completely.

"Olivia."

She stared straight ahead, willing herself not to react, biting her lip, beer forgotten in her right hand.

He stared at her side profile, a mess of thoughts as his gaze moved from her heavily lashed eyes, to where her front teeth were pinched down on her lower lip. His thumb itched with the desire to pull her lip free from the worried assault, but his mind was fighting a bigger battle. He was standing at the edge of reason, waiting to be pushed into something terrifyingly wonderful, or pulled back into the safeness of commonality.

Always he would remember what he had thought to be heaven. Waking up painless after dying on the concrete, cursing himself as he laid in that pool of blood that he had only told her once that he loved her. Of course the angel that greeted him would be her. His Olivia.

"Angel." The word came out hushed, almost like a prayer. Her eyes closed and her lips parted on shuttered breath.

She would always remember his first words after waking up. It had been extremely intimate and had affected her deeply. She had thought for sure that he wouldn't have remembered, but of course this was Elliot.

She felt him lean towards her, his hand sliding against hers as he took her beer, placing it on the table. His hand brushed back against hers and she was trembling, suddenly struck by the feeling that he was too. As his fingertips traced a path up her forearm, sliding gingerly up her bicep, she felt the tremor in his hand and was awed that he was as affected as she was.

"Open your eyes, Liv."

Her eyes fluttered open, but she kept facing straight ahead, fearing that if she turned, she would wake up. And this perfect dream, this perfect fairytale would be gone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Elliot still couldn't believe he was touching her, and more over, that she was allowing it. His whole body was vibrating with desire for her, the fact that she was shaking, her breathing hitched, only adding to it.

He leaned closer, his fingertips sliding against the soft flesh of her bare shoulder, taking time to tease the skin of her neck. Her eyes closed again as she made a low sound in the back of her throat.

Elliot's hand slid up against her jaw, turning her face towards him before his fingertips brushed against her parted lips. He looked down at her mouth, the same one from each of his illicit fantasies. He wanted, _needed_ to taste her.

Olivia moaned low when the feel of his hand at her jaw was replaced by the pleasant roughness of her partner's cheek. His hand was at the back of her neck, tilting her throat to give him more skin to explore.

Elliot mouth brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck, trailing a path of warm, moist kisses from the base of her collarbone up to her jaw. Her breathing was ragged, her hands clutching the fabric of the couch, her mind nearly gone. His chest pressed against hers now, she knew he could feel the stab of her nipples through his shirt, and the thought that another shift of movement she would feel his erection caused heat to pool between her thighs.

"Elliot," she moaned, completely lost as his mouth trailed kisses along her jaw, his free hand now touching her gently under her left breast.

"Tell me," he spoke, his voice rough with emotion. He shifted again, sliding his leg against hers, moving them closer. He was forcing himself to go slow even as his body screamed for her. "Tell me what you want, Liv."

"Need…oh," she gasped at the feel of his hand on the underside of her breast. He was teasing her, torturing her with a slow, circular caress. "Oh, God, El."

"Tell me."

"Kiss…me," she pleaded, her voice breaking.

He pulled back enough to see her face, one hand still at the back of her neck, the other on her breast.

Olivia looked up at him, still in shock at the look he was giving her, that the raging desire in those ice blue eyes was for her. His gaze dropped to her mouth and she couldn't take it anymore.

When their lips touched it was like coming home. Nothing else mattered. The case disappeared. The job, _gone_. It was Elliot and Olivia. In this moment, they weren't partners, weren't detectives. They were lovers.

His mouth teased her in that slow, languid way his hands had. Almost burning up with intensity, Olivia broke his taunt, parting her lips and deepening the kiss.

He groaned, his tongue touching hers as he tasted her. It was heaven, it _had_ to be heaven. Because he had never felt so good, and he had no one to thank other than his angel.

Olivia arch against him, almost blind with bare need. If someone had told her that just a kiss could do this…_dear, God_. She was on sensory overload, conscious somewhere in the mess of her jumbled thoughts that the perp could come through the window and she would be blissfully unaware.

Elliot's leg slid between hers, and he shifted so he was partially over her, still supporting most of his weight on his side. Vaguely, he noticed her white knuckled hands were still gripping the fabric of the couch.

"Touch me back, sweetheart," he spoke roughly against her mouth, needing to feel her hands on him.

She reached up, caressing his cheek as they continued the kiss. It was deepening, and both of them knew it, knew where they were headed with exhilarating expectation.

The knock at the door caused Olivia to jump. Elliot pulled back on his arms, breathing roughly. He scowled towards the direction of the door, then looked back down at her.

She was beautiful. Mouth red with his kisses, cheeks flushed with passion. It took all of his willpower not to just continue on and ignore whoever the hell it was on the other side of the door. _But the job…_

"If that's Logan, I swear, I'll fucking kill him," Elliot grunted, his voice still husky.

Laughter burst out of Olivia. Of anything he could have said at the moment that had to be perfect. Body still throbbing with desire, silly smile on her face, she watched as Elliot painfully stood up and slowly made his way to the door.

**2ND A/N**: Yeah, cliffhanger ending here. Apologies, but this scene was too big for one chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Dick Wolfe – you rock!

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. My apologies on the cliffhanger and delay – the scene was too vast for one chapter, and it took me awhile to get the last few pages to my liking, which I'm still not sure I really like. Oh, and some angst (but in no where near the caliber of 007 and Mousie962 – you guys slay me).

**Reviews:** Please. All of you that have left feedback are giving me the incentive to continue this piece (slow as it may be). Readers are a writer's best friends! Oh – big ole thanks to Hepburn (as always – thanks for the push)!

**A/N:** I am such a beast with updates. Deepest apologies.

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Chapter Fourteen 

It was with mild interest that she watched the short exchange between Elliot and Detective Bryn, one of the vice cops assigned to her detail. The graying, heavy-set man had wanted to check in with her before he and his partner, Detective Dobson, rotated out again with Schnoebelen and Worth. There were six cops that made up her detail, and they worked in shifts of eleven to seven, seven to three and three to eleven. Usually one detective would notify Olivia when they were switching, updating her on any unusual activity and seeing if there was anything she had noted during the shift so they could update the reports.

As Bryn and Elliot discussed in clipped tones several interesting people the detectives had noted around her building this shift, Olivia distractedly picked up the Glock. Though her focus was on the conversation behind her, her long fingers worked deftly on checking and disassembling the gun with skillful movements only borne of years of practice. Her mind was still reeling from the kiss, but the cold metal in her hands had calmed the trembling, the vulnerable shakiness in her fingertips and thighs.

Elliot bid the older detective a curt good-bye, closing the door and leaning back against the frame. He was only mildly surprised to see Olivia had resumed cleaning her guns, her head bowed as she focused on the task. Of course, what did he expect? They had been kissing. _Christ, what a kiss. _And she had been under him, his leg between hers, her soft mouth making the most erotic sounds. Stabs of renewed lust stroked down his spine, tightening his groin at the memory. Damn if he hadn't wanted to rip her clothes off right then and go at it like some horny teenage boy.

But this wouldn't do. This wasn't just any woman. This was Olivia. Passionate, fierce, complicated Olivia. More than anything, he didn't want to mess this up, _this_ being them, and the promise of a future. A future together, as more than just partners and best friends.

The thought was frightening at the same time it caused his chest to burn with a warmth of emotion that had eluded him for years. He loved her. He wanted this to be more than one night of sex, though he had no doubts that it would do them both good to release all of that tension that had been building for nearly a decade. But instinctively he knew if they moved too fast, he would scare her off; she would end up playing the martyr for the good of the job. Because she would always hold the job higher than anything else, even her own happiness.

Elliot walked over to the sofa, aware again of the renewed ache in his lung and ribs. Damn if their little encounter hadn't caused him pain. With dark humor, he realized that if he engaged in the kind of sex he had been dreaming about with her, he'd probably be incapacitated for days afterwards. Not to mention ripping out some stitches. He couldn't help the smirk that quirked at his lips, thankful that her attention was still focused on the Glock so he didn't have to explain his dirty mind.

He sat down gingerly on the couch next to her, the movement causing her to glance up at him. She blinked, something like fear flashing in her dark eyes before she looked back down at the Glock. The emotion tore at him.

"Liv…"

"So it sounds like there wasn't much activity this past shift," Olivia spoke quietly, her voice still rough from earlier. She cleared her throat as she reached for the solvent. "It's really not necessary that you have to baby-sit me, El. Schnoebelen and Worth are probably the most experienced of the detail cops anyway. And…"

"Liv," Elliot silenced her, his hand circling around her left forearm. She flinched at the warm touch, looking back up at him. "It's okay."

"Is it?" She asked. Olivia closed her eyes on a sigh and then turned to set the Glock and the cleaning rod back on the newsprint. Her heart was beating an erratic rhythm she could almost taste on the back of her tongue, fear tingling in a cold sweat down her spine. It was shock, she knew, shock of their earlier actions, the sweetest memory of his mouth. She had never been so aroused in her life. Or felt so vulnerable. The sensation was heady and terrifying all at the same time. Shamefully, her first instinct had been to run, to hide from him and the onslaught of emotion. But Olivia wasn't one to hide. In flight or fight, she would always be on the front line.

His hand was warm where it touched her, his thumb smoothing her flesh in a gentle caress. She turned back to him; her lips parted, whatever she was going to say now lost in response to the look in her partner's eyes.

Elliot stared back at her, his ice blue eyes warming with something she could only describe as love.

"I…," she faltered, biting her lower lip, then moistening it with her tongue. She swallowed the hesitation, trusting him completely. "I'm scared, El."

It was one of the boldest things she had ever admitted, and he knew it. His thin lips pulled into a soft smile as his hand lifted from her forearm to brush against her cheek.

"I am too, Liv." Elliot leaned forward, fighting the urge to kiss her when he heard her quick intake of breath. He rested his forehead against hers, his fingertips still caressing her cheek. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she answered, her voice no more than a whisper. She wanted him; it was naked in her eyes. It took all of his self-control to shift out of the embrace instead of pushing her back onto the couch. After all, she trusted him.

Olivia looked at him in a mixture of faint surprise and disappointment. She glanced away from him, once again focused on the guns lined out on the newsprint-covered coffee table.

"How many do you have left?"

If his question was unexpected, she didn't show it. "Three and the rest of the Glock."

Olivia eyed him warily as he reached forward and picked up the slide of the Glock. "Elliot…"

"This will go faster if you let me help. And it's not like I don't know how to clean a gun, Liv," he grunted. He knew how she felt about her weapons, but sometimes her over protectiveness was annoying.

She unwilling grinned. "Okay, but I only have the one rod, so you're stuck with the slides and springs."

"Deal."

They finished up the Glock in a silence that was surprisingly companionable, reminding Olivia of their years working across from each other at the precinct. The only sounds were of clinking metal and Nina Simone singing low in the background, comforting Olivia in a way she had rarely felt.

"Is she singing about…_lilac_ _wine_?"

Olivia glanced up from disassembling the Heckler and Koch. Elliot had his water bottle raised in midair, his head titled slightly as he listened to the music. Olivia couldn't help the laughter that tickled at her throat.

"You've never heard of Nina Simone?"

"Nina who? Uh, no. Not my type of music." He took a long swig of water before setting the bottle back down and watching his partner take apart her newest gun. She handed him the slide.

"Mmm. I don't listen to her much anymore, only when I'm feeling…well, when my mood matches hers, I guess," Olivia said softly, avoiding Elliot's stare.

Intrigued with this small insight into her personal life, Elliot tried to decipher the lyrics as he cleaned the slide of the gun. _When I think more than I want to think, do things I never should do, I drink much more that I ought to drink, because it brings me back you._

He knew that by the time this was all over, he would find himself in possession of a Nina Simone CD. Every time he would hear her voice in the future, he knew he would be reminded of this moment, sitting next to Olivia, cleaning her guns in a cop-slanted demonstration of domesticity.

Olivia handed him the Heckler and Koch and he reassembled it with the slide as she started to work on the Kimber Warrior. He vaguely remembered the gun first appearing shortly after Alex had left. Obviously knowing his partner's deep friendship with the former assistant D.A., he understood the significance of the gun to her. It was like a snap shot of time, but instead of a photograph her memories were symbolized with the weapon.

They cleaned the remaining guns with quick efficiency, neither really feeling the need to break the comfortable silence with idle conversation. Already knowing the location of her gun locker in her kitchen, Elliot went to the task of locking up all but the Glock while Olivia cleaned up the coffee table and replaced the gun cleaning kit.

She wandered into the kitchen to deposit the crumbled newspaper into the recycling bin, the Boulevard beer in her free hand. Elliot was kneeling down in front of the cabinet to the left of the sink, closing the door of the locker and twisting the combination a couple of times. He glanced over to her, taking in the sight of her bare legs in subtle appreciation, his gaze ending on her feet.

"You know, for a cop, you have really pretty feet," Elliot smirked, pushing back on his heels to stand in front of her.

"If that was a compliment, you should try harder next time," she laughed, taking a sip of beer. The bottle was almost empty, and the beer was becoming flat, but at that moment, she needed the distraction.

"I let Kathleen paint my toenails once, back when she was, I think, six or seven. She had wanted to paint Maureen's toes, but you know how they can be, sisters…" his voice trailed off. Olivia looked at him with a half smile, seeing the visual clearly in her head, Elliot baring his feet so a little Kathleen could play pedicurist.

"Can you imagine how much shit I took for that the next day, in the locker room? There I was, bare feet, big hairy toes with bright pink nail polish…"

Laughter broke out of Olivia in a rush. "God, El…"

"You're telling me. Damn if Cartwright doesn't bring that up every time we see each other," Elliot grimaced, mentioning one of his old partners. His scowl softened at the flushed amusement on his partner's face. He leaned forward, taking the forgotten beer from her hand. Pressing it to his lips, he drank the last of the Boulevard, his eyes on her the entire time. He set the bottle back on the counter with a smile at her expression.

"Pain meds…"

"Just a taste," he answered. _Just a taste._ She swallowed at the implication of it, suddenly nervous again.

"So…it's almost midnight. We should probably be getting to sleep," Olivia spoke softly.

"I agree. I know where you keep the sheets; let me get a couple and I'll make up the couch."

Her eyebrows rose. "You're not sleeping on the couch, El, I am. In your condition…"

He grunted. "I didn't come over here to kick you out of your own bed, Liv. I've slept on the couch before, it's comfortable."

"You know, you say that enough, I might actually start to believe you," she replied, lips pursing slightly. "Elliot…"

"Sleep with me," he cut her off, his voice low. Heat rushed through her in response to the request, desire slicking through her belly. Elliot saw her react visibly and his own body answered in kind, lust circling at the base of his spine, hardening him.

Keeping control of the sudden onslaught of visceral emotions, he leaned forward, his breath tickling her ear. "Just sleep, Liv. For now…"

He couldn't help nipping gently at her earlobe, and her hips jerked against his. He groaned in response, hands on her hips to repeat the movement against his erection.

"Christ, Liv," the words came out in a low rush. For an insane moment, he thought about taking her right her in the kitchen. It would be simple enough; he could lift her up on the counter top, dispense the necessary clothes, and be inside of her without too much trauma to his lung. He would be in a position to give both of them pleasure while fulfilling a desire he had harbored for nearly a decade.

It was too soon.

He backed up, stumbling a bit. She looked up at him, her face flushed, her eyes dilated. Olivia felt dazed, standing there, and wanted to say something, _anything_, but her mind was too jumbled to form a coherent sentence.

"Just sleep," he repeated, his voice rough. Olivia nodded, moistening her lower lip, still not trusting herself to speak. He stared at her for what seemed like minutes, taking in her face while trying to read what she was feeling at that moment. Fighting the urge to look away, she stood still, the trembling easing as her body calmed.

He turned away from her, walking out of the kitchen, pausing briefly at the entrance. "I brought some sweats to change into, and then I'll come to bed, okay?"

Olivia nodded again, watching as he left. She stood alone in the kitchen for a minute, her mind still reeling, alternating from being overwhelmed to craving more stimuli. She closed her eyes and forced in several slow, deep breathes, centering herself. She was a cop, a detective; one man shouldn't scare her so much when she was used to facing murderers and rapists every day.

Olivia strode out of the kitchen and back into the living room, picking up the Glock. She made sure the front door was securely locked before turning off the lights and the stereo.

She walked down the hall, passing the closed door of her bathroom and entering her bedroom.

There was enough brightness from the moon and streetlamps shining through the window that Olivia didn't feel it necessary to turn on the lights. She set her Glock down next to the rosary beads on the bedside table to the left of the queen size bed and then sat down on the edge of the mattress, facing the window.

When she sensed him enter the room, her body stiffened slightly in anticipation. She closed her eyes, her hands curling into loose fists.

"Liv."

Unable to fight it, she turned slightly on the mattress, her breath catching in her throat. Elliot stood in the darkened doorway. In the half-light, she could see his nude chest, the white rib belt stark against his bare skin. He wore dark-colored sweats slung low at the hips, a gun in his right hand. As he walked over to the bed and set his Beretta down on the other table, she suddenly wished she had turned on a light. Her partner's chest had to have made God proud.

"Hi," she spoke thickly. His face broke out into his characteristic slow, sexy grin and her chest suddenly felt tight.

"Hi." Elliot stared back at her while she was appraising him, accessing how the moonlight captured her in her position at the edge of the bed. His gaze caught for a moment on the table next to her and suddenly he understood. _His rosary beads._

She loved him.

He was suddenly clear-headed, raw with awareness of the emotion. They both needed each other, and the one thing that held them back was their own fear. The irony of it was rich.

Elliot sat down on the bed, pushing himself up so he was leaning back into the pillows scented from her jasmine shampoo. He reached out a hand to her.

"Come here, Liv."

She touched his fingertips gingerly, and with a shuttered sigh edging on the side of resignation, she took his hand. Elliot pulled her up under his arm and against his chest, situating them into a position that was comfortable for his lung and that kept her close to him.

It was soothing, the way her breaths came out against his chest and the faint touch of her fingertips on the edge of the rib belt. He looked down at the dark head of hair resting against his shoulder, feeling more content than he had been in recent memory.

Her fingers stilled on his chest. "El? I…I should warn you, sometimes when I sleep…"

"Nightmares?" He guessed, and hearing her sigh, he knew he was right. "I get them too, Liv." He didn't mention that it had been one of the reasons he had slept on the couch in the last year of his marriage. He would cry out in his sleep, sweaty and terrifying; he hadn't blamed Kathy for not wanting to share a bed with him when he was half-crazed with his violent dreams. It was oddly comforting to know his partner shared the same demons of sleep.

Her hand had stilled, flat on his chest, her breathing even, but not quite slow enough to signal sleep.

"Would you like me to tell you a story?" He asked her softly. He heard her dry chuckle and smiled.

"A fairytale, El?"

"Hmm, I could wing a fairytale. What do you have in mind?"

A yawn caught her unaware and she stretched lazily against him with the movement. Sleep was catching up with her. "Bullets and fairytales. That's all it is. Just…bullets and fairytales," she murmured against his chest.

It was only several minutes later that her breathing had slowed as she drifted into sleep. Comforted by the thought, he allowed himself to give into the temptation.

Somewhere in the bliss of dreamless sleep, something tugged at him. It took several moments for the heavy veil of slumber to lift, for Elliot to make his way back into consciousness. The smell tempted him first, that soft, jasmine scent of his partner's hair. Then the luminosity of the streetlamp cutting through the darkness. And Olivia…

Elliot's eyes flicked open at the feeling of emptiness. He was alone in her bed. His gaze jerked to the bedside table and dread stabbed at his stomach when he saw that her Glock was missing.

He pushed up from the bed, grabbing his own gun before heading to the doorway of her bedroom. Soundlessly he made his way down the hallway, his senses on full alert even as his heart pounded madly in his chest.

The door to the bathroom was ajar, and he paused, recognizing the sound of retching. _Damn._

He waited until he heard the toilet flushed before pushing the door open the rest of the way. The sight made his heart ache.

Olivia was leaning back against the bathtub, her arms resting on her bent knees. Her face was blotchy, her eyes red with tears and the act of vomiting. She was trembling and he suddenly felt awful for violating her privacy in this moment.

"Olivia?"

"What are you doing up?" The question came out in a croak. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then moved up slightly to close the seat of the toilet. The movement drew his attention to her Glock where it was resting on the back of the toilet. Even in her current state, she still had enough precaution to bring her piece with her everywhere while a madman was on the loose.

He sighed, ignoring her question as he made his way into the small bathroom. He set down his Beretta on the edge of the sink and then picked up the washcloth on the closest towel rung. Elliot turned on the faucet, drenching the cloth with cool water and then wringing it out. He shut off the water and then walked over to her.

Olivia let him smooth the washcloth over her face, thankful for the kind, almost fatherly gesture, but unable to say so.

"Dream?"

She nodded, biting her lip. He held out the cloth and she took it, pressing the wonderful coolness against her burning eyelids.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I can't…" She stopped, removing the cloth from her eyes and looking back up at him. What could she say? That it was about him? That over and over again she had the same dream, watching Elliot die on the concrete, that pool of blood ever widening as she failed again and again to save him.

Elliot sat down on the spotless tile floor of her bathroom, his posture mirroring hers. He knew the feeling, the raw fear of the nightmares brought on by the job. The demons of those soulless bastards that committed the crimes they investigated would continue to haunt the time the detectives actually had away from the job. Even in sleep, they couldn't escape, and in the dreamscape, the crimes and their perpetrators could twist into something even more vile, more violent and close to home.

"It's…you, El," Olivia spoke softly, staring at him with her red-rimmed eyes. "After the shooting…every night, it's the same thing. I couldn't save you."

"I'm here, sweetheart. Right here," he whispered, reaching out to touch her knee, his caress gentle. "You saved me. That piece of lung is another story…"

She laughed, the sound coming out more like a gasp. He smiled, watching her intently as she pressed the washcloth back against her eyelids.

The next few minutes passed in quiet as she let the coolness of the cloth soothe her and he was content to silently study her. She finally looked up, setting the washcloth down on the edge of the bathtub behind her.

"I've been sleeping on half of my bed lately," she said, her voice still soft, "thinking of what you said to me."

His blue eyes widened slightly, the hand on her knee tightening. The revelation tugged at his gut.

"I meant it. Every word," he whispered. Her gaze drifted down to his mouth, pausing for only a moment before reaching his eyes again. It was if they had jumped the line together; hand in hand, they had given up the fear and became honest, raw and open with each other.

Elliot pushed to his feet, reaching down a hand to her. "No more heavy thoughts tonight, Liv. Come back to bed with me."

She took his offering, standing up next to him. Pausing only to grab her Glock, she walked with him, hand in hand, back to the bedroom.

Tomorrow would come too soon.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Dick Wolfe – you rock!

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Oh, and a small helping of smut (half a scoop).

**Reviews:** Please. You bring such joy into my life!

**A/N:** So I know this took forever and a day. Deepest apologies. I had a death in the family, and then that little plot bunny Broken for You (not to mention my recent foray into CSI fan fic). It's been nuts, and I hope to get back to writing/finishing this thing. Next several chapters are mostly case, and there are two big plot twists ahead.

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Chapter Fifteen **  
**

The warmth of the air was strange, since she usually kept her bedroom cool. There was also the subtle awareness that she was still wearing clothes; most of the time she slept nude, a habit she had developed out of convenience more than anything else. But neither of these sensations tugged Olivia from the haze of sleep more than the feeling of foreign flesh under her hand, and the distinctly masculine smell of the other occupant of her bed. _Elliot._

Last night came back to her in a sweet, heady rush of memory. Kissing, cleaning her guns together in amicable silence, sleeping in such a heavenly embrace and of course, the talk they had in the bathroom. She had shared with him something deep, a part of her soul that left her intimately vulnerable to him.

Without opening her eyes, she could tell by the hardness and contour of flesh that she was still resting under his arm, her cheek against his chest. There was a small, almost rattling type of sound whenever he would take a breath, his chest expanding with the movement. Under that, she could hear the faint but steady thrum of his heart, the same rhythm she knew had lulled her back to sleep earlier that morning.

When the warm sensation of bare skin against her palm made its way through her sleep-fogged mind, her eyelids fluttered open, the simple task almost sluggish. Though her vision was still blurred, there was no mistaking the position of her hand on his exposed stomach between the stark white of the rib belt around his upper torso, and waistband of his sweatpants.

Her body stiffened, the unexpected visual and following stab of unfettered lust causing her to swallow back an involuntary gasp. Her hand was flush against the taut skin of his lower stomach, his narrow hips and a trail of light brown hair made visible by the low proximity of his pants. The fabric must have shifted in his sleep, revealing more of him then she had ever seen before. Absently, she wondered if he usually slept in the nude as well.

She moved her head slowly, careful not to jerk him awake as she turned to look up at his face.

It brought back memories of the first time she had seen him after surgery. Doctor Carroll had led both her and Cragen back to the ICU, and Cragen, after hearing the doctor tell them there was little chance Elliot would wake, had left her alone with him to call Munch.

He had been sleeping, as he was now, but he had been frail, his skin pale, his face relaxed. He still held that certain peace to his handsome features that he did that day, something that was missing when he was awake and alert. It was if, when asleep, the demons of their job granted him leave, gave him a small pardon to actually pretend evil didn't exist.

He really was a beautiful man. She couldn't help but stare, her dark gaze tracing his face, from the small bandage at his forehead, his strong, stubbled jaw, to rest at his mouth. His thin lips were parted a fraction against his breathing, and she felt a familiar ache twist its way through her body, a yearning that had grown more intense over the years, and had nearly spun out of control since the shooting.

She wanted him. It was exhilarating and painful, and almost frightening. All this time, she had managed to keep her feelings in check. After all, while she wasn't fool enough for the self-deception to think there was nothing between them, she was smart enough to know it couldn't develop into anything more than friendship. Even in his current single status, he was off limits to her. How many times had they discussed the foolhardiness of cops in relationships?

But he decided to change the playing field. From the moment he had uttered words of love to her, lying then in that pool of blood on the concrete, he had made it explicitly clear that the game was set, and there was no other option but to move forward.

Last night was the boldest move yet. Olivia still felt the taste of his tongue in her mouth, the pleasing pressure of his hand on her breast, the way his thigh had slid between hers and rubbed erotically against her heat.

She closed her eyes, biting back a groan as the memory seared through her torso in anticipation. It was the most intense desire she had ever felt, and she wanted to fall into it, reveal in it with him regardless of the consequences.

Elliot had somehow convinced her to let him in, to freely expose to him her vulnerability. He found the woman beneath the controlled, detective persona she held onto as her security against the world. It terrified her; at the same time it made her love him all the more.

She opened her eyes again, her gaze drifting from his face to his chest. She paused a moment to admire the beauty of his exposed flesh, made hard by visits to the gym and aggressive police work. Under his sternum the rib belt was wrapped securely around his torso; her eyes turned thoughtful as she looked at the stiff, white material.

Olivia knew he had probably changed his bandages under the rib belt last night when he had used the bathroom before coming to bed. She supposed he had probably taken a pain pill at that time as well. As hard assed as he was, she knew the kind of pain associated with his injury would be unbearable without some sort of medication. He had no other option but to take what was prescribed to him, even with any side affects it created on the job.

She glanced over at the alarm clock in the dim room, reading the green, digitalized time of 5:15. The sun was just starting to rise, and cast a hazy, pink tinged light into the room from the lone window.

They should be getting up. She could easily sleep for another couple of hours like this, as she was sure Elliot would enjoy as well, but the investigation couldn't wait. That, and she was uncertain how often he had to take his meds. The last thing she wanted was for him to be in pain.

She shifted slightly, the warm sensation of flesh under her palm reminding her where her hand was. Olivia bit her lower lip, looking down to the exposed skin under the stark rib belt, overwhelmed with emotion. It was too much for her. The visual pushed all practical thoughts out of her head and once again she was just a woman in bed with the man she desired.

Olivia slid her hand softly against his lower stomach, lifting her palm a fraction so only her fingertips grazed his flesh. Goosebumps rose at the gentle contact, smattering across his exposed skin. Under the worn fabric of his sweatpants, she saw him stir, his body wakening to her touch.

She was suddenly breathless by his unconscious reaction, wanting to explore further than the soft, innocent teasing of her fingertips on his stomach. She traced a line down his left hip, smoothing against the waistband of his pants. It was heaven to touch him like this, and she couldn't help the small moan at the wonderful sensations it was causing in her own body.

The hushed sound slid through the blackness, calling to him. He felt weighed down with the last traces of deep sleep. The pain weaved its way through the dense slumber, a dull ache throughout his entire left side, gradually increasing in intensity as his body came into consciousness. But that feeling suddenly became secondary to the gentle touch low against his stomach, fingertips dangerously close to his growing erection.

Still only half conscious, he was stunned, trying to gauge the situation, to remember. But then the faint balmy smell of jasmine caressed his senses, reminding him in sudden stark clarity who was lying under his arm, stroking him with those long, elegant fingers of hers. His partner, warm and curvy and inviting, was pressed up against him, teasing him awake. His Olivia.

He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the image. Her dark head of hair was resting against his shoulder, her breasts pressed against the uninjured side of his chest, her right hand caressing his belly. She made some soft, erotic little noise in the back of her throat, and he had the abrupt thought that maybe she was already as aroused as he obviously was at her ministrations.

He grabbed her hand, his fingers encircling her wrist. The quick movement caused her to gasp, and she looked up at him, her brown eyes wide with surprise.

"Don't," he spoke, his tone rough from sleep and desire. She blinked, and he relaxed his grip on her wrist, his thumb sliding into her palm.

"El?" She questioned. Holding her gaze, he moved his thumb in a tiny caress against her damp skin, pulling her closer to him with his free hand. He saw her pupils dilate with the movement and drew in a shuddery breath at her unconscious reaction.

Throwing the certain consequence of pain to the wind, he pushed up on his elbows, moving with the speed of intent. He was over her before she had a second to comprehend the blur of movement, both of her hands over her head, bound together at the wrist by his right hand, his hips between her thighs.

His face was hot at her throat as he worked a trail of moist kisses against her skin. His free hand was at her hip, holding her secure as he pressed up against her. He was all but throbbing with the intensity of his need, and he knew she could feel it as he pushed against her heat, separated as they were only by his sweatpants and those blue boxer shorts of hers.

She was shaking uncontrollably, instinctively fighting to get her hands free from his hold so she could pull him harder against her. She rocked back against his hips, her eyes suddenly wet with intense desire, and she realized vaguely she was pleading with him, begging him.

"Liv." His voice was low, the hand at her hip tightening as he slowed his movement between her thighs. "Liv, I need you."

She moaned her response, arching herself back up against his erection. He cursed low as the action nearly broke his control. Elliot pressed her down into the mattress, holding her still under him as he tried to even out his erratic breathing.

"But I need you too much," he whispered shakily. He rose up slightly so he could look down at her. She stared back, desire causing her already dark eyes to look almost black, her cheeks flushed. She moistened her bottom lip with her tongue, and he bit back a groan.

He lowered his face down to hers, hesitantly touching her mouth in their second true kiss. The gentle kiss deepened as the minutes ticked on and the room became lighter as the sun rose higher in the sky.

Olivia lost track of how long they had been kissing. At some point, he had released the hand on her wrists, and she had run her fingers through his close-cropped hair, careful of his bandage as she held his head. He had relaxed against her, and somewhere along the way, the intense, overwhelming lust had simmered into tenderness.

Eventually, he broke the kiss, pulling back to look at her. His ice blue gaze, warmed with the emotions he felt for her, traced across the features of her face, trying to memorize her as she was now. Picture perfect, and he wanted to keep this visual so that it would comfort him in all of the dark times ahead.

Elliot moved to push up, his wounded lung once again making it known as pain ricocheted through his side. With the desire waning, there was no other sensation to take his mind off of the ache in his ribs.

"Are you okay?" Olivia asked, sitting up as he moved to a standing position in front of her. She eyed him worriedly, seeing the grimace that marred his features.

"I think I might have overdone it for a moment there," he grunted, stretching his back and adjusting the low waistband of his sweatpants.

"Oh, El…"

"No regrets, Liv," he cut her off. He bent down to kiss her again, biting back the grunt of pain the action caused him. He needed a pain pill. _Damn his stupid lung to hell._

"I'm going to take a shower and change this bandage, okay?" He continued before she had a chance to question him again. Elliot walked over to the nightstand and picked up his Beretta before making his way to the doorway. He turned back to her, giving her a smile. "I promise not to use up all the hot water."

"That's not what I'm worried about, Stabler," she admonished him, still sitting on the edge of her bed. "Are you going to be okay by yourself?"

The heat in his gaze nearly caused her to turn away; she could feel the flush of her face in response to the look he was giving her.

"You got lucky once this morning, sweetheart. If you were to join me in the shower…," his voice trailed off; he watched her fidget, knowing she was imaging them just like he was. His lips pulled in a slow, meaningful smile, and she blinked before turning away, still not used to the fact that he was looking at _her _with that expression, his ice blue eyes darkening with emotion.

He had disappeared through the door before she had a chance to say anything, though she had no idea what kind of conversation she could have engaged in at that exact moment.

She sighed, falling back on the bed. Her sheets smelled like him, and she stared up at her bedroom ceiling, utterly overwhelmed. In little over a week, her life had been tilted upside down and tossed around, bouncing between the hands of a psychotic killer and those of her beloved partner, who had chosen possibly the worst time to reveal to her that he thought of her more than just a friend.

Elliot Stabler had been in her bed. They had kissed, he had touched her. _God, had he _touched_ her..._

Laughter bubbled out of her. God, what the hell was wrong with her? She was going to blame him. It was his fault that he had her acting like some giddy girl with a serious crush.

The laughter faded into a soft smile, and she stared at the smooth white ceiling for several minutes, playing over his words in her head, the sound of his voice mixing with the visual memory of this morning and last night. Hearing the faint sound of water running in the bathroom sink, she sighed again, pushing up into a sitting position. She couldn't daydream all morning.

She frowned, reality sobering her, banishing all of the pleasantries. There was one, possible two pedophile serial killers out there, on the loose. Other than the obvious vendetta they had against her, there was no telling when they would find their next victim. She had no time to feel anything but utter determination for justice.

Olivia picked up her Glock and cell phone from her bedside table and walked out of her bedroom. Pausing only briefly at the closed door of the bathroom, she strode down the hallway to the kitchen.

She set her gun and phone down on the counter, taking a moment to wash her hands in the metal basin sink. She padded bare-foot across the cool tiles of her kitchen to her small pantry, scanning the different foil bags of coffee before deciding on the Blue Mountain. They were the best coffee beans she had at the moment, and considering the start of her morning, she thought it a good choice.

She yawned, stretching to the cabinet above her sink to retrieve the coffee grinder. Olivia set the small appliance down on the counter, plugging it in next to the coffee maker. She poured double the amount of beans she thought she needed into the machine, closed the top, and proceeded grinding the aromatic beans in short bursts until they looked suitable for her purpose.

Olivia prepped the coffee maker with the freshly ground beans and water, adjusting it to the appropriate setting to start the brewing process. She watched it for a moment, the familiar ticking, and then gurgling sound resonating through the quiet kitchen. Satisfied, she picked up her Glock, leaving her cell phone on the counter, and walked back down the hall to her bedroom to pick out some clothes for the day.

In the bathroom, Elliot was standing in front of the mirror, unhooking the fasteners on his rib belt. The first thing he had done after locking himself in the small room was to take round one of the day's meds, which consisted of pain pills and antibiotics among others. That was the easy part of his morning routine; now came the part that gave him the most trouble.

He folded the stiff fabric of the wide belt, resting it on the side of the white tiled sink. Hesitantly, he pulled at the edge of the thin gauze covering the bullet hole on his left side, ignoring the pain throughout his torso as he gently rolled back the bandage. He tossed the gauze into the small wastebasket to the right of the sink before turning back to his reflection in the mirror.

Even after all of the times he had seen the wound, it still never ceased to amaze him. The large bruise that had covered his fractured ribs had since faded from angry purple to yellow and the actual bullet wound had stopped draining nearly two days ago, except when he coughed. He had been shot before, but never so seriously.

Elliot would always remember the first words Doctor Carroll had said to him when he gained consciousness after surgery. _"Two inches further up, or two inches further over, and you would have died, Detective. You're extremely lucky."_

Lucky. Not that he thought any of this was due to luck, but then again, he wasn't a man that gave any credit to chance. No, he had survived for a reason. God had given him a second chance, whether it was for his children, the job, or for her.

Her face had been so pale. He had never before seen her hands shake like that when she had pulled his coat from his bleeding body. It was scary, and oddly reassuring to glimpse the vulnerable woman underneath her usual controlled exterior. Her reaction gave him another reason to fight, to pray for his life in that expanding pool of blood on the cold, dirty concrete. Because there was a possibility that she could actual feel for him what he felt for her.

Elliot sighed, pushing the vivid memories back as he worked on the bandage on his temple. He was pleased to see the improvement of his second, much less significant bullet wound. The area of skin the doctors had hastily shaved during surgery was thankfully past the stubble stage; his dark hair was filling in nicely around what one day would be just a thin scar. He could still clearly see the stitches, but in another week or so, his hair would be long enough to cover the majority of the wound.

He showered hurriedly, careful of the wounds as he bathed. As always, he tried to keep his mind on the task, a testament to his control whenever he showered at Olivia's. He was no stranger to the mix of feminine products in a bathroom; he had lived many years with four women, two of them who had quite the penchant for numerous, expensive lotions and shampoos. But this was different. Here it was _her_ things that surrounded him, in a place she stood soapy and naked…

Elliot groaned. It wouldn't do. He rinsed the remaining shampoo from his short hair and turned off the tap with a hard twist. Opening the curtain, he reached out for one of the surprisingly soft towels on the closest rung, drying off before stepping back out into the bathroom to finish the task of redressing his wounds and slipping into the clothes hanging on the back of door, set there to steam out wrinkles.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he was completely dressed save the tie hanging loosely on his right shoulder and his bare feet. He had his toothbrush with a dab of toothpaste in one hand and his Beretta in the other.

Olivia smiled at him from the bedroom doorway, her posture mirroring his. "Feel okay?"

"Never better," he answered her with a smile. One of his eyebrows quirked and he tilted his head slightly, his nostrils flaring as the seductive aroma of great coffee caught him. Olivia laughed at his expression.

"I thought it would be nice to start the day off with something other than Munch's finest," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You're too good to me."

In the dark hallway, he watched as her gaze drifted from his eyes to his mouth, lingering there for a moment.

"I wouldn't say that, El," she spoke softly, her eyes once again meeting his. He stared, his breathing suddenly a little fast as she walked towards him, coming to stop in front of him in the bathroom doorway. She reached up to touch his face, her palm against the stubble at his jaw. "I wouldn't say that at all."

He swallowed, the overwhelming desire to forget everything and just take her back to bed making him nearly dizzy. "Liv…"

She pressed a long finger against his lips, shaking her head slightly with a small, secretive smile. Olivia reached up, her lips brushing his cheek softly. Without another word, she turned and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Elliot stood for a moment in the dark hallway, lips parted in silent surprise. She had totally thrown him off balance. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had been able to do that to him. _Hell._

He shook his head, sighing. Tucking the Beretta into his back waistband, he walked down the hallway into the kitchen, trying to recall exactly when everything had started to change, when he had fallen helplessly, totally in love with Olivia Benson.

Elliot was at the kitchen sink, finishing up the task of brushing his teeth when there was a knock at the front door. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that it was too early for the seven o'clock rotation of Olivia's detail.

Elliot dabbed his mouth dry with a paper towel, depositing it in the trash at the same time he pulled his gun from his pants, making his way to the door.

Looking through the peephole, he felt his wonderful mood turn south, his mouth pulling out into a thin line as he identified the man on the other side of the door to Olivia's apartment.

Elliot tucked his Beretta back into his waistband, opening the door to the tall black-haired man in a heavy coat, his hair and the shoulders of his coat damp with what Elliot assumed was rain. The older man was carrying a bag with the logo of popular delicatessen on the front, the white paper bottom nearly translucent from the greasiness of whatever pastries he had purchased on his way here.

"Logan. What are you doing here?" Elliot asked, his tone low. The older man's black eyebrows had risen slightly in surprise as his dark gaze took in the early morning appearance of the younger man.

"I could ask you the same thing," Logan replied, just as quietly. A slow smile tugged at his lips, creasing his attractive face when he noticed Elliot's bare feet.

"I'm her partner." Elliot was frowning now. It was aggravating; he was torn between which bothered him most – the fact that Logan was drawing conclusions between him and Olivia or that he was even here at Olivia's doorstep, at almost six in the morning.

"Likewise." Logan's aggravating smirk seemed to increase as the younger man's scowl deepened. The two men stared at each other in a silence that had become deafening, both trying to read the other, even though as seasoned detectives that task was nearly impossible.

Logan scratched at his jaw absently, shifting slightly so he could glance into the apartment behind Elliot before looking back at the unfriendly man in front of him. There was coldness to his blue eyes that Logan found interesting; Logan had always been the aggressive cop, the fighter in all of his partnerships. His attitude nearly had him fired from the job several times, and had been the main cause of his transfer out of Manhattan Homicide over a decade ago. He had to work like hell to mend his reputation and get back into the good graces of the NYPD.

In a way, Logan surmised they were a lot alike. There was a faint hostility to the younger detective that Logan sensed right under the surface, something he could relate to. Cragen had discussed with him several times over the years Elliot's successful cases, and with some hesitation, Cragen had also mentioned the man's desire for justice for the victims, Elliot's investigations nearly crossing the line several times. Logan had no doubt that Elliot was fiercely protective of those he loved, and next to his children, Logan knew that he felt the same way about his beautiful partner.

"So, you gonna invite me in, Stabler?" Logan asked quietly. He titled his head, hearing the distant sound of a shower running. One dark eyebrow rose up as his smirk deepened. "Or is this not a good time?"

The irrational thought of hitting the older man skittered across his mind. Knock him out, close the door, and continue on with getting ready. The line of reasoning was so unexpected and damn near ludicrous that Elliot had to bite back the laughter that burned in his throat. He couldn't go around punching every man that looked at Olivia too long, or said something off color to her. In their job, his knuckles would be bruised by the first day, not to mention Olivia wouldn't appreciate being viewed as some sort of helpless possession. She obviously wasn't that sort of woman, and it was just one of the many reasons he found himself enamored with her.

Elliot sighed, standing to the side of the doorway to let Logan walk past him into the apartment. "Don't you believe in calling first?"

"Didn't think I'd have to. Last night at dinner, I told her I'd pick her up," Logan answered flippantly, even though he suspected Olivia hadn't mentioned their time at the diner in the West Village to Elliot. "I guess she was distracted and forgot…"

His voice trailed off as he walked into her modern, but cozy apartment, Elliot close behind him as Logan dropped the pastry bag on the table of the dinette set before heading into the kitchen.

"Hell, Stabler, that smells awesome. You mind?" Logan asked, only glancing at Elliot for a fraction before turning back to the coffee simmering aromatically from the machine.

"Mugs are to the right of the sink," Elliot answered absently, his thoughts still on the fact that Olivia and Logan had shared dinner last night. Why Olivia would spend any more time with the older detective than she had to bothered him.

Logan reminded him of one of the characters from the romance novels Kathy had kept tucked under the couch cushions and read on lazy Saturday evenings or on those many nights Elliot had been late coming home from the job. He was tall, dark, and if Elliot had to grudgingly admit, handsome, though in a rather rough around the edges, street weary sort of way. He had to be in his late forties to early fifties, if the lines on his face and his near two decades of associating with Cragen were any indication. He would consider that too old for Olivia, except her past dating history held a majority of older men; it was something she even admitted stemmed from a lack of a solid father figure in her life.

"This is fucking fantastic," Logan broke through his thoughts, his voice tinged with obvious disbelief. His dark eyes were wide as he glanced over the edge of the blue coffee mug, taking another long sip. "Christ, Stabler, you make one hella cup a joe."

"Liv made it."

Logan whistled low. "A woman after my own heart."

"Logan…"

Olivia's phone started ringing, still sitting on the counter top where she had left it. Both men turned to look at cell, both instinctively knowing it was related to the case. At this time in the morning, in the middle of such a gruesome, media heavy case, there was nearly an absolute certainty that the caller had something important to discuss or share with Olivia.

Elliot's fingers twitched with the desire to pick up her phone to check the caller ID. He glanced over at Logan; the older man's mouth was pulled out into a grim line as he stared at the phone and Elliot knew he had the same thought and was also holding back either for Olivia's privacy, or the fact that Elliot was standing next to him.

On the fourth ring it cut off, the call rolling into voice mail. Logan looked back over to Elliot, his lips still compressed. They stared at each other silently with unspoken tension. If it were urgent, the caller would try another detective.

Elliot remembered faintly that his cell phone was still in his leather coat, draped over Olivia's couch from where he left it last night. He gave a moment's thought on if he should go get it, when Logan's phone rang from inside his coat.

Logan set his coffee mug down to reach into his coat to pull out the small cell and flip it open. "Logan. Oh, morning, Don…no, been up since four…yeah…"

"Hey."

Elliot turned around at the honeyed sound of her voice. Olivia was standing in the far doorway of her kitchen, fully dressed in a light orange shell with a dark beige button down dress shirt, dark brown slacks and loafers. She was tightening her shoulder holster, her brown gaze shifting from Elliot to Logan and then back again as her long fingers worked on the leather straps.

"Hey," Elliot repeated her small greeting, smiling softly.

"What's Logan doing here?" Olivia asked quietly, securing her Glock in the holster against her ribcage.

"Other than drinking your coffee, he's your ride to the precinct."

Olivia blinked. Her lips parted, and then pulled into an awkward half smile as embarrassment tinged her expression. "I can't believe I forgot."

Elliot chuckled, ignoring Logan's side of the case related conversation to focus for a moment on his partner. "Perhaps you were…distracted."

Olivia's smile grew, becoming more genuine in response to his hushed statement. "Perhaps." She pulled the striped tie from his right shoulder and proceeded to loop it around his neck, working it into a graceful knot at his throat. She folded his collar over the silk and smoothed her hand down the front of the tie a gesture that mirror yesterday morning back in the crib.

"Did you know it's snowing?" Olivia asked, glancing from his tie up to his ice blue eyes. His eyebrows quirked in surprise. "Big flakes. They're starting to gather on the ledge of my bedroom window."

"Damn." He shook his head, sighing. That would explain Logan's somewhat damp appearance. "I heard from Fin that it snowed for a couple of hours the day they found the latest victim, but I thought we'd at least get a reprieve until November."

"Remember when snow meant days off school and snow ball fights with the other kids in the neighborhood?" Olivia reminisced quietly, pondering one of the few delightful memories from her childhood.

"Yeah, now it's just a pain in the ass. I hope it doesn't stick."

"Olivia."

Elliot and Olivia turned back towards Logan. He was tucking his phone back inside his coat, regarding them both with a thoughtful, if somewhat hesitantly elated expression.

"What's going on, Logan?" Elliot asked before Logan could greet his partner. Even if Logan wasn't interested in Olivia, he knew the older detective would probably choose to engage her in some sort of banal conversation before discussing his phone call. But this wasn't the time.

"That was Cragen. Doctor Warner just got a hit back from the FBI lab," Logan relayed, his voice even.

"A hit from what?" Elliot asked, his stomach tightening with hope even as he was struck clueless. He didn't know of any evidence they had cleared from the scenes had been sent to the FBI.

"I had to ask that too. Seems Olivia had the idea of a possible match in the nail polish the perp used on the victims. Your doc sent the nail clippings of three of the vics to the lab a couple of days ago. The Feds found a match."

Olivia frowned at the stare both her partner and Logan were giving her. "Look, it's not like I was withholding information…"

"Because it's not like you don't have track record of keeping important shit like this from me," Logan cut her off, scowling.

"I asked Warner about this on the scene, before we were partnered, Logan. And honestly, with all of the other evidence that has come to light, this took a back burner."

"Well, it's back in front. The doc's at the station right now with Cragen."

"What are we waiting for?" Elliot asked, breaking the tension between Olivia and Logan. "You brought a car, right?"

"Yeah," Logan replied, rubbing the back of his neck as the pressure of the situation eased a fraction. He glanced from Elliot to Olivia, frowning when he noticed Olivia was still nearly bristling with anger. "Do you have a canister or some sort of travel mug?"

"What?"

"For the coffee. It's the best damn shit I've ever tasted. I'd like to bring it with us."

Olivia lips parted in surprise, before pulling out into a small, uncertain smile. "Uh, yeah. Second cabinet to your left."

She watched him for a moment as he pulled out the large, cylindrical travel mug, setting it on the counter before reaching for the coffee pot.

"I'm going to get a coat, and then I'll be ready." Without a backwards glance, she headed out of the kitchen to her bedroom.

"I suggest you find some shoes, Stabler," Logan spoke low, his attention on the task in front of him as he poured the dark coffee into the canister. Elliot glanced from the empty doorway to Logan. "What? I'm just saving you embarrassment."

"Don't be an asshole, Logan," Elliot grunted. Logan laughed in response.

"But that's what I'm best at, Stabler."

Elliot shook his head and walked out of the kitchen. He had a bad feeling about the day ahead of them. Something was building, and he had an eerie suspicion the case was at its breaking point.


End file.
